


A Boy and His Bow

by kxsumis, supernovaniall



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Derse/Prospit Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Dragons yo, M/M, Warring Kingdoms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-06-04 14:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6662695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kxsumis/pseuds/kxsumis, https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernovaniall/pseuds/supernovaniall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dirk Strider, back then, could walk on the waves like Orion could. He was your role model, a Prince, a warrior. Once you grew out of that mindset, you realized he was just another boy, like you. Now, he couldn’t walk on the waves. Now, you believe he would only drown."<br/>---<br/>An AU in which Jake English is a Hunter of Derse, an army of incredible warriors who dedicate their lives to the safety of the Kingdom. Dirk Strider is the Prince of Derse, who will soon fill his father's place as King, and will be married off to Eridan Ampora, the Prince of Prospit-Derse's rival kingdom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Boy and His Past

**Author's Note:**

> Ayye back with another homestuck fic because i love death and dying.
> 
> Well actually i dont know if this is really a FIC; its actually just all my replies to an RP i was doing with elliottestified on tumblr put together + a bit of backstory i threw together.
> 
> So props to elliottestified, who wrote the lines from dirk in the meeting scene. 
> 
> Ive been thinking of a medieval au for a long ass time and i thought hey why not post a drabble?
> 
> Anyways i guess ill leave it up to you guys to decide if it deserves another chapter or so, so feel free to leave one of those rare comments, and maybe send an ask to my tumblr, which is in my bio. 
> 
> ENJOY.

You are twelve years old again. It’s the thirteenth of Spring. The wind is blowing through your hair, and the air around you smells like pine trees. The sun is shining brightly through the canopy above you. It is a hot, spring day, so hot it is uncharacteristic for the season. The entire week had been like this, and you remember hearing the Priests going on about the end of the world. The world isn’t going to end, though, it's too beautiful, your young mind thinks.

You are an explorer, and you are on an adventure. You are saving the princess from the evil dragon guarding her castle. But you must be sneaky, so you’re hiding behind a tree, a mighty sword in your hand. It isn’t really a sword, but a wooden stick you sharpened at the tip. But your young mind believes it is a sword, so it is. Suddenly, you hear a stick behind you crack. It’s the dragon this time, you know it! You hop out from behind the tree, your sword held firmly in front of you, letting out a loud battle cry that is sure to scare the merciless beast. You don’t see a dragon. But a boy.

He has blond hair that reminds you of the sun, and small, brown dots all over his face. He’s staring at you, like you’re insane.

“Who are you?” You ask.

“I’m Dirk. I’m a prince!” He replies proudly, like he’s been itching to tell someone that all day.

“I’m Jake, and you do not look like a prince.” You reply, looking him up and down.

“Well, I am.” He huffs. “And in six years, I’ll be the King of Derse.”

“My grandma told me not to talk to strangers. Princes or not.”

“I am not a stranger.” Dirk says. “We know each other’s names.”

“That’s true.”  
“So what are you doing with that stick?”

You take offense to this, holding your sword proudly and standing up straighter, like a real adventurer. You raise your chin defiantly. “This isn’t a stick, this is a sword.”

“No it’s not,” Dirk insists. “I have swords. That is not a sword.”

“Woah,” You say, your eyes wide. “You have swords?” He really must be a prince.

“I do, a whole lot of swords, in fact!” He says this proudly, a grin on his face that said he was extremely proud of himself for having swords, and you’re very jealous that he does and you don’t.

“Do you know how to use them?”

“My father has fancy knights teach me how every week. They’re kind of mean though, so it’s not as fun as you think.”

“Tell me about them.”

And from then on, you and Dirk were best friends, completely inseparable. You’d go out every day together to play swords, and sometimes Dirk would give you lessons. You’d lay out under the stars at night, and Dirk would tell you stories about the people who lived in the constellations. These weren’t just any people, but grand heroes. Perseus and Hercules and Achilles, and even more that you’d even lost count!

Dirk was very smart. He could read and write, and he told you stories that only fed your need for adventure, which made you and Dirk go on even more. Hunting for trolls and witches, saving princesses from evil dragons, fighting criminals who tried to steal the king’s gold and diamonds and other shiny things. Sometimes, you and Dirk ventured so far into the forest, and saw the Witch’s House.

You’d heard hundreds of stories about the Witch of Derse, who lived out in an old, run-down house, with vines growing over the doors and windows. There was always smoke coming from the chimney, and you and Dirk played games to find out what kinds of potions the Witch was brewing. Once, you even saw the heavy curtains covering the windows move, and you and Dirk ran away as fast as you could.

When you turned thirteen, your grandma gave you your first bow and arrows. “Every adventurer needs his weapon.” She told you.

You practiced every day, especially on the days when you couldn’t go on adventures with Dirk, because he was busy with his “Princely Duties”. Within a month, you’d completely mastered it, and you never missed a shot. You could even hit your target with your eyes closed. Dirk thought this was the coolest thing ever, and demanded you give him lessons.

The lessons never went well, because Dirk said he was better with close range weapons, like swords and knives. But when he finally hit his target for the first time, he yelled with joy and threw his arms around you. You and Dirk celebrated that night by sneaking into the royal gardens and feasting on berries. Later, Dirk told you he blamed it on a racoon, so you and he wouldn’t get in trouble. As the lessons continued, Dirk said you were the greatest archer he’d ever seen. Once, he even called you beautiful.

You and Dirk sat out on your boulder, chowing down on some berries and apples Dirk had picked up on his way to meet you.

“Have you ever kissed anyone?” Dirk asked.

“No,” You take a bite out of your apple. “My grandma told me I’m not old enough for kissing.”

Dirk was quiet for a moment, and then he began talking again. “What if you didn’t tell her you kissed someone?”

“I guess it’d be okay.” You look over at Dirk, a quizzical look on your face. “Why are you asking me about kissing?”  
Dirk was quiet again, and then he shrugged, pulling a handful of nuts from his leather sack. You weren’t allowed to eat nuts, because whenever you did, you’d grow very ill. “Today my father told me that some day I’ll have to marry someone, and when you marry someone, you have to kiss them.”

“I know that.” You reply.

“Would you like to practice with me?” Dirk asks, and you stop chewing on your food.

“Are you asking me to kiss you, Strider?”

“If you don’t mind. I don’t want to mess up when I get married.”

“I guess I don’t either.” You set your food aside, and turn to face him, criss-crossing your legs. Dirk does the same. “Okay, I’m ready.”  

Dirk hesitates before leaning in, and suddenly, his lips are on your’s. You don’t know why your heart is beating so quickly, and you didn’t know it could. Your face feels like it’s on fire, but in an oddly good way. Dirk’s lips are soft, and move gently against your’s.

When he pulls away, his cheeks are rosy pink. “Am I a good kisser, Jake?”

“I think you’re a swell kisser, Dirk.”

You promised to never tell of the kiss, and it became your biggest secret. You ate the rest of the time in comfortable silence, before Dirk was to go back home, and you were to return to your village.

When you turned fourteen, Dirk stopped wanting to go on adventures. He smiled less. He stopped asking for archery lessons, because he had royal people to teach him now. He never called you beautiful anymore, and he never kissed you again. His eyes had become less bright, and his voice was getting deeper, which was intimidating. He was also growing, growing a lot taller, stronger, and more quickly than you were. He had also become handsome and brave, and you envied him.

One day, he invited you to visit the royal gardens with him and meet his father. You were very excited to be among such an important person. You brought your bow and slung it on your back, among your quiver full of arrows. Dirk gave you the quiver for your fourteenth birthday. According to Dirk, it was made out of the land’s finest leather, and you loved it with all of your heart.

The royal gardens were much more inviting when you’d been invited to visit rather than when you sneaked in. The king was just as fancy and proper as you expected him to be, and quite honestly, he was a bit scary, and far too serious for your taste.

“Father, father!” Dirk exclaimed  after you’d settled in, and you were enjoying some delicious cheese and a few sips of wine. (You really didn’t like wine all that much, but Dirk and his father did, so you pretended to.) “Jake is the best archer in all of the land! I think he would make a brilliant hunter!”

The king laughed heartily. “The best? The boy is so young. I doubt he is the best.”

“But he IS!” Dirk insisted, looking at me hopefully. “Jake, show him!”

So you did. You grabbed your trusty bow and knocked a trusty arrow, taking a deep breath and finding something to aim at. Your eyes scanned the gardens until eventually they trained on a sparrow resting on a branch. Usually, you didn’t like killing animals for no reason, but you needed to impress the king, and Dirk was counting on you.

You pull the bowstring back and utter another deep breath, your eyes locked on the target. The bird flies into the air, and you quickly aim and let the string go, the arrow soaring through the air and piercing the bird mid-flight. You watch its lifeless body fall to the ground with a thump.

You turn to face the king, and he looks shocked, but Dirk looks like he did the first time you ever showed him your shooting skills, and you feel satisfied to bring a smile back to his now stoney and cold features.

That was when you were offered your position to train to become a hunter, a group of noble warriors who fought for the land of derse. They were only the strongest and most important warriors; they went on expeditions outside of the castle walls, to places even the knights were too afraid to venture to. You began your training about a month later.

The training was like nothing you’d ever done before. It was challenging, and grueling, and time consuming. However not even three months into it, you’d noticed how much you’d changed. Your skin had become more tan, and you had new muscles peeking out from under your shirts, making them a bit tighter on your arms. You’d grown taller, but not as tall as Dirk. Your eyes looked smaller and more fierce, and you liked that. By the time you were fifteen, you were already on your way to being a full-fledged hunter, and you were known as a prodigious warrior throughout the kingdom.

Being fifteen was harder than you expected. You were still growing, and your voice still sounded funny, and you began seeing less and less of Dirk. It wasn’t only the fact that he’d become busier with Prince duties to attend to, but the fact that he had lost interest with the things you wanted to do.

“So, do you want to head to the witch’s house today?” You asked one morning, excitedly pulling your bow closer to you. When you turned fifteen, your grandmother had gifted you with a new bow, one that fit your new size better. It’d gotten a lot easier to use it now, because you were so much stronger between growing and your training to become a Hunter, which had only become more rigorous.

“Not really,” Dirk said, looking down at the ground, kicking a small pebble as he walked.

“Okay, then, maybe we could go to the forest and search for buried treasure!” You suggest, grinning. You know Dirk will like to join you to look for treasure.

“We’ve been searching for treasure for almost three years now, Jake. I don’t think it is there. Don’t you think we’re too old to be playing pretend?”

You feel like a dagger has pierced your heart, and suddenly you can feel the bit of childhood you’d been holding onto slip away.

“I don’t think anyone is ever too old to play pretend, but, I suppose it can wait.” You say this quietly, giving into Dirk. You and Dirk walk the rest of the way in silence.

The Spring of your sixteenth year, your grandmother fell ill. You never left her side, and began missing training with the Hunters, which upset the higher-ups, but you didn’t care, for your grandmother needed you.

The Winter of your sixteenth year, your grandmother died, and your little village was much less fun to be in. Your cabin was now cold without your grandmother’s warm fires and cooking. Falling asleep was a constant battle, for you could only hear her voice echoing through the room, telling you countless stories that inspired you for as long as you could remember. You could only feel her lips on your forehead as she tucked you in at night, even when you were fifteen and no longer a child.

You could see her soft, gentle hands pulling the blankets over you, and her quiet voice whispered throughout the creaking walls. “ _You’re my little hero, Jake._ ” She would tell you. “ _Go save the world some day_.”

You cursed yourself, because she truly believed you would save the world some day, and she never saw you do it.

Dirk visited you the day after her passing, and you laid in your grandmother’s bed with him for hours on end. He held you while you sobbed into his chest. He didn’t speak to you, because he knew it was unnecessary. Your grandmother’s bed sheets still smelled like her-like lavender and honey, like she had always smelled. Now it was being interlaced with the musky smell of Dirk, and you wanted to wrap yourself in it.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The king greeted you the next day.

You didn’t reply.

The Spring of your seventeenth year was when the War between Prospit and Derse broke out. Your close friends perished. You watched the Kingdom resort to violence and destruction. You fought until you couldn’t anymore. And Dirk sat on his throne and watched, cowardly. Even his brother, Dave, a Knight, was more active in the War than any other warrior you’d seen, and you and he fought side by side for months, until the Winter of your seventeenth year was upon you, and Prospit eventually surrendered.

You and Dirk had never been the same, and sometimes, you believed his several passing glances with you were the same as an exchange between him and yet another commoner.

You were alone.

* * *

 

Your name is Jake English. The year is 700 AD. You are now eighteen-years-old. About a month ago, you and the rest of the kingdom’s hunters returned from a perilous adventure outside of the castle walls. Well, to you it was an adventure. To everyone else, it was just another expedition they were required to go on. While the journey was challenging and grueling, you had one thing back at the kingdom keeping you going. You knew that if you returned safely, you’d have a chance at seeing Dirk Strider again.

Dirk Strider-or, PRINCE Dirk Strider, as you’re required to call him now-is your best friend. You have known him since you were very young, but ever since he turned thirteen, you were seeing less and less of him due to his new, annoying princely duties. And you, well, you’re simply a lowly hunter. Even though the hunters basically do all of the dirty work for the kingdom, they are given a bad reputation. Scum. Mongrels. Livestock. Thieves. The only one who didn’t view you that way was Dirk. And frankly, that was all you needed to get through the long days of attending to the King’s every need. But when you got back to the kingdom after that long, perilous adventure, things had changed.

The air was even more tense and dry than usual. The kingdom’s walls and towers of the castle seemed even more menacing, as if one day their brilliant architecture would crumble and collapse, swallowing you whole. All because Dirk Strider, the future King of Derse, your childhood friend, the one you love, would be taking Eridan Ampora’s hand in marriage. Eridan is more proper, more handsome, richer, and far more impressive than you are. It’s no wonder Dirk would be marrying him, and the King wouldn’t even think of choosing you.

Today you have been invited to attend a meeting within the castle. While you and your hunters are basically at the bottom of the food chain among the royal status, you were always invited to attend these meetings. They hated to admit it, but you were important. You don’t know exactly what it will entail, but you’re sure it will consist of some boring talk about the kingdom’s security and a whole lot of marriage talk. You aren’t excited. You wander through the humble town square in front of the castle. It is full of merchants and music today. There are children running about, laughing and pretending to sword fight with wooden sticks. Women stand at the wells, collecting water and talking amongst themselves. Men prepare food and open their small stands up for the day. Beggars stand on the cobblestone street corners, playing small stringed instruments.

It is barely afternoon, and the morning sun is shining lazily through the trees, casting shadows and slivers of light onto the road. You breathe in the morning air. It smells of spices and bread, fruits and meats. As you approach the castle walls, the air becomes thicker, and attempts to suffocate you. You ignore it as you walk through the pearly gates. The castle is far from modest. Stone walls, marble floors, statues of gods and goddesses and brave warriors dotted along the corridors and hallways. Brilliant purple and gold tapestries hang from the walls and ceilings, and swords belonging to past kings and warriors hang from hooks on the walls with golden plaques under them. You wonder if one day Dirk’s great sword will hang on that wall. You soon approach the room where His Excellency’s meeting would be held. Two tall guards stand in front of the door, parting ways once you approach them. You take a deep breath and knock.

"My apologies my brief absence, Your Excellency. I decided to take the longer route through the commonplace." You say this in your most formal voice as you walk into the dining room. Luckily, you don’t have to try that hard to sound formal, because your accent already makes you sound official when you’re not speaking in a joking matter. You bow before the king and then you turn to Dirk. “My Prince.” You then make your way to the seat at the end of the long table. Your footprints are loud through the deafening silence. You can feel the eyes of everyone around you burning your skin. You made an effort to make no acknowledgement of Eridan, and you’re sure that already pisses the king off. You don’t care at this point. You want this meeting to be over more than anything. The table you sit at is long, made out of the finest mahogany, crafted by the finest woodsmith. The room is quiet, and whenever you move or speak, the sound will echo off of the grand walls. You glance at Dirk every so often, but you’re sure he’s not glancing back. You brace yourself for what the king has to say.

He clears his throat. “As you all know,” he begins, and the entire room goes silent, his loud, important voice echoing through the room, like he’s speaking in an auditorium. “My son, Dirk will be married off to Prince Eridan Ampora of Prospit, and David is to marry Feferi Piexes, Princess of Prospit. Because of this, we have decided to write an official treaty of Peace, which is currently under development. Our two kingdoms will merge into one: Skaia.” There are murmurs of agreement throughout the room.

“Father, if I may make a request,” Dirk says, standing from his spot at the throne. “I would request we hold a masquerade ball, on the thirteenth day of spring in celebration of my betrothal.”

The thirteenth day of spring. Six years ago on that day, you met Dirk.

Your throat tightens and you attempt to bite your tongue. Prospit and Derse merging into one Kingdom. Prospit and Derse have been in multiple wars and scuffles in the past decade, and beyond that. You have seen Prospit’s men massacre countless members of your Hunters. Your mouth goes sour. You can tell Dirk isn’t exactly keen on the idea, as well. Not to mention, the Queen of Prospit was the most manipulative, vile woman in all of the lands. Her Imperious. You ignore Dirk’s plea and speak out, despite your fear of the King and what he may do if you reject him.

“Your Excellency, if I may.” You speak loudly, causing all heads to turn to you. Suddenly you feel that burning once again. “Prospit and we don’t necessarily have a peaceful past.” Your eyes skim over Eridan on the other side of the room. His mouth his twisted into a sneer. “Betrothal, that I understand. But merging with them? Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

The king merely snorts and ignores your words. He turns to Dirk and confirms the date of the masquerade ball, which Dirk merely nods at.

You feel anger bubble up inside of your stomach, and you are suddenly blinded by the impulse you’ve had ever since you entered this ridiculous meeting. In fact, it was barely a meeting. You saw it as just another excuse for the King and the rest of his pigs to run their mouths, blabbering on about nonsense that didn’t matter, and now a ball you would never be invited to. “Excuse me!” You stand up, pushing your chair out and slamming your hand against the table, causing the centerpieces and candles to shake. The loud crash echoes throughout the hall. “You seem to be forgetting the group of people who have protected this land for more than a century.”

“That’s enough out of you, English.” You hear Dirk snap, and your blood runs cold. “We do appreciate hunters such as yourself, but it is arrogance such as that which will send you to the execution square.”

It was like watching a calamity ensue with no way to stop it. You weren’t completely connected to your body; Dirk’s voice didn’t sound like his anymore. It sounded twisted and wretched, as if a devil had taken over his body.

“One more outburst out of you, and I can guarantee you will be discharged from your duties indefinitely.”

You stare down the table at him, your face burning and your eyes flicking around to everyone watching you, unable to meet Dirks. Eridan stands there sneering at you. The look on the King’s face makes you feel relieved it was Dirk who replied instead of him. Hot tears pool at the corners of your eyes. Dirk Strider, your childhood friend and the love of your life, now standing here acting like an arrogant fool, just like his father and just like Eridan, threatening you with execution. Your hand is shaking where it sat after it collided with the table. Mechanically, you’re sitting down back at your seat, like a dog after its owner punished him. “Very well.” You say quietly, your eyes locked on your hands, now folded in front of you on the table.

You sit in silence for the rest of the meeting.

You see Eridan kiss Dirk, and you don’t know if Dirk enjoys it or hates it anymore, but you no longer care.

After the meeting was dismissed, you didn't give Dirk the pleasure of looking back at him. Instead, you make sure you're the first one to exit the room, and run your way out of the grand corridors and gates of the castle. You ask yourself the same question over and over again in your mind: _When did Dirk Strider become such a coward_? You’re running through the commonplace, the sounds of children’s laughter and the songs the beggars play sound ominous and sinister. You wipe at your eyes with your hand.

Once you return to the hill outside of the castle walls where you and Dirk used to have your nightly rendezvous, you climb up onto the boulder you always sit on, waiting to hear his voice. You reach into your knapsack and grab the apple you’ve been saving since breakfast.

Suddenly, you’re twelve-years-old again. You and Dirk are standing somewhere near here. His lantern is lighting up the area, and you are standing in front of him, your back pressed against the front of his body. You hold a wooden stick in front of yourself, Dirk’s larger hands cupped over your own.

“This is how you hold the sword when you’re fighting with a bad guy.” He explains. His breath is hot on the back of your neck. Dirk lets your hands go, and this time you think you’ve got it. You thrust the sword forward, as if you’re fighting an enemy in front of you.

“Like this?” Dirk laughs. “Not quite.”

You take a bite out of your apple. The juice runs down your lips sloppily, and you wipe it off with your sleeve. The lanterns from the castle light the land around you through the night fog, causing the night to seem like the world is under a murky pond.

You sit there for hours, staring at the castle towering over you in the distance, where you know Dirk is. You wonder what he’s doing, and then you remember he’s with Eridan. Their hands are probably on each other, their lips locked together. Eridan has probably said he loves Dirk, and Dirk has probably said it back. The King is probably gossiping about your outburst, and by tomorrow, you won’t be able to walk through the town’s square without getting wandering glances. You lay on your back and stare up at the stars, tossing the apple’s core onto the grass below you with a sigh.

“Jake, do you see that?” Dirk asked you, laying in the same spot you were laying in now.

“See what?” You’d ask, opening your eyes.

“That’s Orion’s Belt. I read about Orion in class today. He was a giant huntsman Zeus placed among the other constellations in the sky.” He said. You’re closing your eyes again.

“Is that so?” You are barely listening to him, the sound of his voice lulling you to a peaceful frame of mind.

“Yes it is! He could walk on the waves of the sea, Jake. I wish I could do that.”

Dirk Strider, back then, could walk on the waves like Orion could. He was your role model, a Prince, a warrior. Once you grew out of that mindset, you realized he was just another boy, like you. Now, he couldn’t walk on the waves. Now, you believe he would only drown.

You mustn’t fall asleep out here, you think to yourself. Dangerous creatures lurk the forest at night. You hop down from the boulder and make your way back to your chambers. Surprisingly, you were given a room within the castle’s walls, however the rest of the Hunters were ordered to sleep in huts in their headquarters, so you hated sleeping in your own room.

The walk to the castle is peaceful. The sound your footsteps make against the grass under your feet is soft, and the only sounds to be heard are the distant who-ing of owls and the rustling of leaves in the wind. You arrive at the castle, and the guards once again part ways for you as you walk to your chambers. They glare at you, however, for they know you are out past your curfew. You open the door slowly and quietly, careful not to wake any others sleeping within close proximity, and also because no one is supposed to be out past sundown.

You make your way through the darkness, peering through the room. You strip down from your garments, tossing them onto the floor next to the trunk at the foot of your bed, which held your vast collection of books, drawings, weapons, and things you’ve collected from your numerous travels. You never sleep in anything but a white, button down shirt and undergarments. You yawn quietly and climb into your bed, the soft arms of sleep embracing you.

* * *

  



	2. A Boy and His Comrades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it took a long ass time to update this and a lot of people liked it SO i whipped this up ayye
> 
> Its kind of short but mainly just a filler until shit gets more interesting ^^
> 
> I hope you all like it! If you have any questions/comments/just wanna chat, remember to leave a comment and/or contact me on twitter or tumblr! The links are in my ao3 bio. Thanks!

The air is cool and still, as it always seems to be now. The sun is hidden behind clouds, as if it is hiding its face in shame. The morning mist is settling over the grassy plains of the kingdom, the foggy air causing the lanterns from the castle and the world around you to appear murky and ominous. The land is quiet as it always is this time of morning, no one is bustling around the castle’s long, busy hallways, trying to get to the places where they’re needed. There are no servants scurrying to tend to the King and Dirk, so when you rise for the morning’s activities, you’re pleased with the peace and quiet.

You make your way out of your chambers and into the grand hallway. The guards part for you when you exit the castle and sneak into the early morning darkness. You pull your hood over your head with a shiver. There are still weeks until the beginning of spring, so it’s still quite cold, especially in the young hours of the day. You hold your bow close to you, an arrow already nocked, for you don’t know what kinds of creatures could be prowling the land at this time without your knowing.

You hate killing animals, but today you are on the lookout for a fair-sized deer to kill and bring back to your fellow hunters village for food, because you know the supply the kingdom supplies for them is rather lacking. You trek through the forest, the sun has begun to rise, casting a lazy light onto the world, casting shadows onto the forest floor. You walk quietly, cursing yourself under your breath whenever your foot accidentally snaps a twig or causes leaves to crunch obnoxiously.

You wander deeper into the forest, closer and closer to where you and Dirk used to travel to see the Witch’s Home. You never found out who resided in that small cabin, but you’d lost your desire to explore it further long ago. You only think about it sometimes, like when it’s late at night and you can’t sleep so you take the secret passages and ladders you’ve discovered throughout the years to the roof of the castle. You think about it when you look out over the lands and see a steady line of smoke coming from within the trees, and you know it’s from her chimney. You wonder if Dirk still thinks about her, and then you remember he doesn’t have time to bother himself with such foolish things anymore.

You get further and further into the forest, and judging by the sunlight, it’s been about an hour. By the time you arrive at the Hunters’ village, the kingdom will be bustling.

You’re about to give up and instead collect some berries and maybe a few squirrels when you hear a twig crack from behind you, and you immediately turn to see a doe about ten yards away from you, eating some grass.

You creep over to a bush as quietly as possible and kneel down, pulling the bowstring back to your nose, your eyes locked on your target. The foe’s ear twitches, and you hold your breath. You wait a few moments before allowing the arrow to fly through the air, your eyes locked on the doe’s eye. It hits your target cleanly, and you wince as its body falls to the ground with a soft thump. You set your bow to the side and walk over to retrieve its body.

You sigh softly upon arriving to the body, murmuring a soft ‘I’m sorry’ to it as you pull the arrow out of its eye and get onto your knees, grabbing your sack from your back. You pull out another sack from it and begin to stuff the animal’s body into it. The deer was a little smaller than most, so it wouldn’t be too heavy to carry back to the village. You hope it’s enough for the hunters to eat well.

You begin your trek back to the village, which isn’t too far from you currently, because it’s also located in the forest where everyone wouldn’t have to deal with the noise of the castle. You arrive at the village after about an hour, you’re assuming, and you’re greeted by John.

“Good morning, Jake! I haven’t seen you since the day before last, I was beginning to get a bit worried.” He says brightly. He looks dirty, like he’s been working all day.

“I’m all right,” You smile at him, offering the sack to him. “I had to tend to the kingdom. But I brought you a doe. I hope it’s enough for tonight’s dinner.”

John takes the sack and gives you the brightest grin you’d seen in a long time. “Thank you, Jake.” He says softly. “It’s been hard finding lots of food as of late, because all the animals are in hibernation.”

“I know.” You say. “And of course _they_ will not do anything to help.” You add, the Kingdom on your mind.

John shrugs, a soft smile on his lips. “You are right, but we don’t need them. We’re the Hunters of Derse for crying out loud!”

“That’s true.” You say softly, knowing that his optimism will make him too blind for his own good at some point. You decide to change the subject. “Let’s get to prepping this foe, shall we?”

You and John make your way to the kitchen; surprisingly, the Kingdom did supply you with one. You’re greeted by Kanaya, who is in the process of making, what you assume is some sort of berry jam.

“Oh, hello, Jake.” She says, glancing over at her shoulder as she gathers the jam and scrapes it into a glass jar.

“Good morning, Kanaya.” You reply cheerfully.

“Kanaya, check it out!” John holds the sack up, which is beginning to smell. “He brought us a foe!”

“Oh, thank the Gods.” Kanaya said, letting out a sigh of relief as she set the jar of jam down on one of the makeshift wooden shelves after putting a lid onto it. “I was beginning to think we’d have to live off of stale bread and jam for the rest of our lives.”

“Do not hold your breath, Kanaya,” You say, watching as she sets the sack aside. “It’s just a small foe, and I’m surprised I was even able to find it this time of year. The rest of the winter will be challenging.”

“Jake, is something the matter?” Kanaya asks, crossing her arms over her chest, eyeing you skeptically. “Usually you’re the one in the best spirits out of all of us. Did something happen yesterday at the castle? Was it something with Dirk?”

You feel your heart clench at Dirk’s name. All day, you’d been trying your hardest to keep Dirk out of your mind. “Everything is fine,” You say simply, however you know Kanaya has the best intuition when it comes to how people really feel. She’s probably looking right through your mask. “I am only tired. I had to wake up early to find that foe.”

“All right,” Kanaya says, avoiding any further conversation. You know she knows somethings up, and she definitely hit it right on the head when she brought up Dirk.

“I’ll go find Nepeta,” John says, unaware of the surrounding tension. “She can skin it. And then we can start cooking.”

“Yes, go, now.” Kanaya says, and John happily sprints from the kitchen to find Nepeta.

“Tell me what’s going on.” Kanaya demands, looking over at you with her hand on her hip.

“Nothing is going on.” You lie, sighing softly. “I promise you.”

She eyes you again, just as skeptical as before. She opens her mouth to speak, but you hear another voice at front door, and suddenly the blood in your body runs cold, and a lump so large you feel like you’re choking forms in your throat.

“Jake, you are needed at the castle.”

You turn to see Dirk, standing proudly in front of you. You bet he thinks he looks powerful, but to you he simply looks like a clod. You want to slap him and tell him he doesn’t need to act like the Prince his father has forced him to be in front of you, but you don’t, and instead reply to him.  
“Why?” You ask tersely, and something in Dirk’s eyes tell you that he can tell you’re upset with him.

“I actually do not know.” Dirk admits. “But he told me he needs you to choose two of your best to accompany you.”

That doesn’t sound good. Your jaw clenches. Dirk sees your reaction, and offers you a soft shrug. “Things will be fine. But I do not want my father to be annoyed when we arrive, so we should probably leave now.”

You nod. “All right. Let me get them.”

You leave Dirk to converse with Kanaya as you walk into the village to find the best two hunters to accompany you and Dirk to go to...whatever you need to go to.

You consider your options. John Egbert is a definite yes; he’s always been one of your go-tos. You’ve never seen anyone work with a warhammer or knives as best as he did. Your second option would have to be Jane Crocker. Not only was she strong in battle, but she had many remedies to help heal wounded comrades rather quickly and efficiently. She’d been accused of witchcraft many times by commoners and even some of the higher-ups in the kingdom.

You gather your friends and explain to them that they are needed in the Kingdom, and they agree to join you.

You join Dirk again, and he explains that he only brought two horses along with him, so you will have ride with him, and Jane and John will have to ride together. You don’t think too much of it; only that you don’t necessarily want to be so close to Dirk because you’re still sort of annoyed with him. You don’t argue or complain, you simply follow Dirk onto the horse and hold on tight as the four of you begin your trek back to the castle.

It must still be early in the morning, for the brisk air weaving through your hair while you ride was too cool for the afternoon.

Once you arrive, Dirk takes a detour around the castle walls and through the back entrance to the Royal Gardens. You feel a sort of emptiness in your stomach; mixed with a sense of nostalgia that feels more bitter than sick. You remember the countless hours you and Dirk spent picking flowers and stealing berries in the middle of the night. You remember the many games of hide and seek you and he played, and the thousands of stories the two of you shared. You remember when Dirk actually _smiled_ , and had the motivation to try to be his own person. You remember when he had dreams and aspirations; you remember him telling you he wanted to build things.

You were fourteen.

“What kind of things do you want to build?” You asked curiously.

Dirk shrugged, biting into his apple. His small legs hung over the edge of the branch, bruised and scratched up from the day’s adventures.

“I don’t know,” he said simply. “I just love visiting the blacksmith at the forge. The smell of dust and metal, the heat coming from the hot coals…” His voice trailed off as he stared off into the forest, the sun casting shadows through the leaves onto the ground. “It is fascinating.”

You chuckled. “Such a life is so unfit for someone like you: a prince.”  

Dirk turned his apple in his hands, thick brows furrowed in thought as his eyes followed its movement. “It is the life I desire, for I do not think I want to be a prince anymore.”

You turned to look at him. You couldn’t even imagine wanting to throw away such a lavish lifestyle. You suddenly feel irritation pool at the pit of your stomach. You’d give anything to be in Dirk’s place, to be fortunate like him.

“Do not say that,” you replied sharply. “Your duty is far more extravagant and important than any commoner could even dream of!”

"I do not like being a prince anymore. Everyone is mean. The castle is mean. The forest is mean now, too." 

Dirk was silent for a moment, his lips pursed, his expression softening. He looked almost sad, youthful; like he was when he was twelve and still believed in witches and buried treasure. You felt your heart pound in your chest. It was like a drum - heavy and relentless, so loud you could feel it in your ears, in your throat, throughout your body.

You watched his orange eyes as he focused on his hands, the light freckles lining his nose and cheeks against his pale, soft skin. His lips looked soft and featherlight. You suddenly remembered kissing him. The way his lips fit with your’s like a puzzle piece, the way you felt like every Bible lesson you’d ever taken was for nothing, because heaven was right in front of you.

You swallowed the lump in your throat.

“Perhaps you’re right,” Dirk said finally, quietly, like he was telling you a secret. He did not meet your eyes. “But commoners, Jake, can build things.”


	3. A Boy and His Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> introducing the new co writer cole doo doo doo doooooo
> 
> i hope you enjoy this chapter we worked Very Hard on it
> 
> contact us:  
> my tumblr: eggtobiology  
> cole's tumblr: shirostrider

The castle is cold, and despite being accustomed to the chill from years spent with your grandmother in the village, you shiver. The Prince, however, is somehow even colder than the morning’s chill. His shoulders are tense, fingers curling into shaky fists before unfurling again, rhythmically. You wonder why he’s so angry, but then you remember that he’s always angry at something. His father, himself, his lot in the world. You knew how to soothe him, once. 

It was when you first became a Hunter. Your roles in the kingdom kept you both busy, his personality was caught in a sludge of responsibility, and your times together on the hill or in the forest were far and few between. His hands were shaking- as they are now- as he walked up the hill, a few steps ahead. His agitation shone off every edge of his body like the moonlight in his hair.

You came up beside him, taking his hand between yours and pulling him off his path. Dirk blinked, startled, pulling his hand away on instinct. You laid a palm on his shoulder, squeezed it tight and gave him a smile. It’s not much, you know this, but it’s all you’ve left to give. 

He stared at you for a moment, the moonlight shining against his eyes, lighting them like ember beneath the wood of a dying fire. His freckles looked like ashes scattered about his face. You think the comparison is fitting - Prince Dirk Strider, a dying fire. It’s sad, because once, you were sure his light could warm an entire village. Now all it does is depress you, remind you of what has and could’ve been. 

He shrugged your hand off his shoulder, silently scolding you before he turning to continue his trek up the hill. That was when you truly knew you were losing him. 

The arching doors of the King’s drawing room come into sight, breaking you out of your reverie. Dirk’s face is set like stone, dull eyes doing all they can to avoid yours as he waits for you and your small group to come together. He raps his knuckles against the door before pushing it open and stepping inside. You wait a moment before following, careful to avoid touching him. Wouldn’t want to make the dear prince uncomfortable.

You’ve been in this room countless times, but it never ceases to astound you. It’s long, like a hallway, with towering, purple walls dotted with paintings. The sound of your footsteps echo off the walls against the wooden floor in an almost ominous way. You find it odd how in this castle, even the simplest and most seemingly innocent of things can threaten you. 

The King is sitting at the end of the room, leaning against the small table separating him and Dirk’s brother, Dave. 

“Dave has always been good at chess,” Dirk told you once. “But he always lets father win.” 

Dave and Dirk don’t look a lot alike, but there are certain things on their faces that immediately show that they are brothers. The stony look in their eyes, the hard expression always resting on their sharp features, the freckles that have been scattered about their faces, their necks, down to their shoulders. 

Dave, however, has always been a character. You can almost see the slight smirk on his face from where you stand. You remember his fluid movements- from the war, from lounging in the gardens with Dirk years ago. Unlike his brother, he has remained true to himself. 

The King looks up to see you and the rest of your group, an almost amused look forming on his face as if to say, ‘Dirk, these are the ones you have chosen?’ Dave, too, looks up, the smirk disappearing from his face. He seems to know what the King is about to say. 

You push past your group, for you can tell by the look in the King’s eyes, you’re the one he wants to speak to. You lower onto one knee, bowing your head. You feel a weakness beyond belief having to bow before someone so unfit to rule a kingdom. 

“Your Highness,” You manage, looking up to meet the other man’s eyes. He’s looking at you with a sort of satisfaction that makes you want to scream. You’re relieved that Eridan isn’t here, however, because you’re sure that his look would be much more irritating.

“Stand, boy,” the King says finally, and you obey. 

“There have been disappearances around the Kingdom as of late,” He begins, standing to slowly make his way across the room, examining his paintings and items sitting on his many tables standing against the walls. It’s the same thing he’s done each time he’s invited you here. 

“It was not much of a deal until last night, when Feferi’s favorite necklace was misplaced,” The King looks over his shoulder, a sort of braggadocious grin spreading across his lips. “Solid gold.” 

“All right,” you say, subtly urging him to continue. 

The King doesn’t speak for a while, but instead walks along the walls of the room, dragging the tips of his fingers across the smooth, purple surface. You glance around the room. Dave examines the chess table carefully before using his knight to push one of the King’s pawns off of the board. The smirk returns to his lips. 

The early morning sun shines through the great, purple stained-glass windows, casting a faint checkerboard onto the dark, oak floor. The color caused Dirk’s hair to look like a rosy pink. You almost laugh, but the King has turned to look at you again. 

“There’s a house, far out into the woods. About an hour’s worth of travel,” He begins, joining your group once again. He glances at the chessboard to see the damage that Dave had done. “Blasted…” He murmured under his breath before shaking his head and meeting your stare once again. 

“I need you all to go there and find out if there is anything out of the ordinary taking place. The guards are growing concerned.” 

“A house?” Dirk asks curiously. “A small one, yes? With smoke always rising from the chimney?” 

“I don’t know what the bloody place looks like, Dirk. I have only been told it is there.” 

You know Dirk is thinking the same thing you are. You know these forests like the back of your hand after your time finding places to flee during the war and hunting for food. There was only one house in the forest, and that was the one belonging to the Witch.

The King clears his throat. “I would like you to depart in the next half hour and be back before sundown. Dirk has a dinner with Eridan tonight.” 

You try your best to avoid flinching at the sound of Eridan’s name and the idea that he and Dirk would be having a dinner. Honestly, you think Dirk is trying to do the same.

“Consider it done, your highness,” you reply, taking to another bow. You hide your frustration as you hear him scoff as you’re walking away. 

* * *

The walk to the witch’s house was short and simple after years of exploring as you grew older. You duck under low-hanging branches, leaves brushing the ground as your small group passes through them. John sidles up next to you, excitedly whispering about the Witch’s house Dirk had mentioned, Jane’s tilted head and smile in your peripheral as she listens quietly. Dirk isn’t far behind you. Every time you turn your head, you see him staring up at the sky through the thick trees, as if he’s never been here before. Or, maybe, as if he’s reminiscing, as you are. This is the same path, anyway; the path you’d take to hide away from the castle, to spy on some woman you don’t even know exists, searching for any sign of life.

There’s a clearing, and stood beneath the shade is the house, just as you remember it: humble and dilapidated. Thin wisps of smoke rise up from the bricked chimney. Dark curtains shield the windows from the outside. The wood is cracked, rotting at the corners, and yet the structure looks strong.

It’s funny- you never thought you’d be here, walking up the crumbling, stone stairs, knocking on the Witch’s door. You glance at Dirk. Though his face is as stony as ever, he too looks as if he is filled with wonder. His eyes almost seem to light up like they did years ago when you first stumbled upon the house, when you first breathed word of the possibility of a Witch in the forest you ran away to.

After you knock, you step back to wait, glancing at your group behind you. A knot of apprehension sits low in your stomach, and your hands wrap tight around the bow strung over your shoulder. Your back straightens as you catch the sound of a latch turning, hyperfocused on the door in front of you. 

You breathe in. Out. Your quiver rests heavy at your back.

The door opens almost in slow motion, the scent of lavender and honey pouring out to greet you. It knocks into your head, makes you dizzy as you stare in at the little light in the house. It’s like drowning in nostalgia, in memories of- of-

That’s when you see her. She doesn’t look anything like a Witch at all, not like what you heard in the stories spread by the children in the kingdom. She didn’t have wild, grey hair or green skin or a pointed nose. What were they all thinking?   


She pulls the dark black hood off of her head, so you can see her face better. Her hair is long and black, like a crow’s feathers. She has large, round glasses and bright, green eyes that look almost childish. She can’t be any older than you. The familiarity of her appearance has another wave crashing over you, and you stagger away from the door. You blink frantically but the tears still well up in your eyes, breath rushing out of you. 

“Gramma…?” Your voice is just above a whisper. You have always liked to believe that hopelessness was only some sick idea, that peace and hope never lost to darkness and despair. You’ve always told yourself that there is always a light at the end of the tunnel, you can always dig yourself out of any hole that you’ve somehow had the misfortune of tripping and falling into. 

Then you see the knowing look in the girl’s eyes, as if the two of you are sharing a silent conversation, and you feel like you’re losing her for the second time. You fear that your previous thoughts revolving around hope have left you completely mistaken and even more alone.

You grip onto your bow tighter, biting back your tears. Breathe in. Breathe out. 

“What’s your business here in the forest?” You manage. You know that the rest of the group saw your little episode, but you plan on trying your best to push it under the rug and shrug it off. You know that Dirk saw it, too. Behind his shielded eyes, you can see a shred of pity. 

The Witch glances over everyone in your group. You hear John’s sharp intake of breath and almost crack a smile. As if she can sense it- which, who knows, she probably does- the Witch snaps her eyes back to yours, her mouth settling into a grin as she speaks. 

“I’ve lived here for years, Hunter,” she says, not unfriendly, “Generations have lived within these walls that have stood longer than your stone castle,” she shoots a glance at Dirk, the corner of her lip curling up into a smirk. 

“What’s your name?” You ask, your eyes glued to the girl, your curiosity much like a child’s. The air seems to coil around her, light bending  tangent to the curve of her cheek, her hair, her hands. You can’t decide if it’s a trick of your mind or if it’s some sort of enchantment.

“I’m not that easy,” she jokes, stepping back so her door opens wider. “Do come inside, it’s quite chilly out, isn’t it? We can get better acquainted by the fire.”

You trust her, for whatever reason. You’re drawn in, John and Jane close behind, the latter wringing her hands together in anticipation or fear- or both. The Witch clears the doorway and your foot is almost at the threshold when Dirk speaks.

“Absolutely not.” His voice is stern but he sounds like a child. “Jake, you won’t take a step inside that house until this Witch tells us her name. As your Prince, I command you to answer me.”

“Witch?” The woman laughs, hair thrown back with a glimmer. “Is that what they call us these days? Oh, back in your great-grandfather’s time, it was Sorceress. I suppose things have changed under new rule, hm?”

Dirk is dumbstruck. His mouth hangs open comically, arms limp at his sides. As the Witch turns away with a smirk, your companions follow her. You, meanwhile, await Dirk’s next action. At his word, you will leave. As your Prince, as the man who used to be your best friend; you will follow his command.

He composes himself rather quickly. A glance from you was all it took, apparently, for as soon as his gaze turns to meet yours, he is back to the mould of a man you once knew. Long strides have him brushing past you within the next moment, and you let the door creak closed behind you as you watch him disappear into the dark, misty room ahead.

You can’t help but feel unease curl in the pit of your stomach like a conniving serpent. 

The Witch’s house is small and cramped, only suited for one or two people. It’s warm and welcoming, an orange glow coloring the room, causing shadows to curl and twist about the furniture. In the middle of the room hangs a dark, metal cauldron, swinging over a small fire. The mixture inside of the bowl fizzed and bubbled above the fire, threatening to spill over onto the floor. A thin layer of steam floated towards the ceiling.

Every available counter and table was covered in small things. You wonder how the Witch could possibly keep track of all of it. Scattered about every surface are gems, books, stones, small animal bones, and feathers. Hanging from the walls and ceilings are herbs and flowers, like chamomile, hibiscus, ginger, lavender, roses, and ranunculuses. 

You allow yourself to tear away from the group to simply examine the curios, turning one of the smaller, translucent stones between your fingers. It’s smooth and cold to the touch. You set it down and move on to investigate the shelving carved into the crackling brick walls. There’s what looks like a human skull sitting proudly in the middle, resting on a small pile of books. You lift your hand to touch it but you’re interrupted when you feel something warm and fluffy brush up against your leg. 

You look down to see large, snow white wolf standing before you. 

Its eyes, an unnatural shade of electric green, bore into yours, and you feel rather than hear its growl. You grip your bow as you always do when you feel threatened, but you’re quickly consoled when you hear the Witch chuckle softly, knowingly. It’s as if she read your mind. She’s looking at you with that same smile on her face. Though she’s around your age, she seems to be wiser far beyond her years.

“Don’t worry about Becquerel,” she says quietly. “He’s as peaceful as they come.” 

“All right,” Dirk speaks up, using the voice that he always uses when trying to seem princely and official. You remember when he would practice that very voice in front of you, demanding that you tell him exactly how impressive he was. “You’ve brought us into your home, you’ve shown us your... dog. Now tell us your name and state your business. As your Prince, I am  _ ordering  _ you.” 

She peers at him. It’s not an unkind or menacing peer you don’t think, but it’s cold and subtly threatening. It’s strange to see in such a friendly pair of eyes. You know Dirk thinks so, as well, because he straightens defensively under her glare.

“Magic knows no monarchy,” She murmurs before walking over to one of her many bookshelves, retrieving a dark, leather-bound book, torn at the edges, strings hanging loosely from the spine. She fingers through the pages absentmindedly. You notice that on each of her fingers there’s a ring of yarn, in many different colors. Green, purple, yellow, blue, orange. 

“My business? It’s simple, Prince. I live here,” She doesn’t look up from the pages as she speaks. The room is silent aside from the bubbling of the liquid in the cauldron and Becquerel’s soft panting. “My ancestors have always lived here, in this cottage. You might think it inferior to your towering castle walls, yes?” 

“I’ve not said that,” Dirk says sharply. “No home is inferior to another.” 

“Mm,” she replies before she pauses, scanning a page in her book closely. She doesn’t speak again until she looks up, her eyes locked on Dirk’s, but somehow on yours as well. “I’m assuming you’re missing...a necklace.” 

“Yes, actually,” John speaks up for the first time, much less confident than the Witch.  His voice is wavering, but he manages to keep himself composed. “According to the King it’s-”

“Solid gold,” She says, as if she’s mimicking the words the King spoke in the drawing room earlier that day. She smiles. “Yes, I know which necklace you’re searching for. In fact, I am the one who took it. I did it to lure all of you out here.” 

“You stole the Princess’s necklace?” Dirk demands, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration. “So the guards were right. I believe you’re subject to prosecution, not only for Witchcraft, but for th-”

“The Princess of Prospit is no Princess of mine,” The Witch raises her voice, and it sends a chill up and down your spine so strong you may as well have been struck by lightning. You’re sure everyone else feels it, too, judging by their bewildered expressions, their wide eyes. “And a Prince who complies with the whims of Prospit is no Prince of mine. I do not care what you have to say. I do not care if you prosecute or execute me for my words, either. If you are not against them, you are with them.” 

“Excuse me,” John blurts gingerly, twiddling his thumbs. “But Derse and Prospit are to work as one - a peace treaty is in the works.” 

“There is much more than a peace treaty in the works, dear Hunter.” She corrected him, her voice stern. 

“What are these works that you’re speaking of, Witch?” You ask, watching her closely. Her eyes shoot to meet yours, making you want to shrink away. 

“A war.” She states simply, almost casually as she slips the book back onto her shelf.

The room grows tense, even more hushed than it was before. The dim light of the fire seems to fade, the small amount of sunlight inching its way through the curtains growing nonexistent, leaving the place dark and monochromatic. 

“A war?” Jane asks quietly. 

“Yes,” the Witch confirms. “A war, like the war years ago and the wars in the stories of Prospit and Derse before any of us were here, when our ancestors still walked the same paths as we.” 

“Lies,” Dirk snaps, shaking his head. “You speak lies.” 

“I speak the truth,” her voice is still calm, level, like the mist rising from the bubbling cauldron in the center of the room. 

“What are we to do?” John faltered, staring up at the Witch. “When I was young, I lost my father in the war between Derse and Prospit. I don’t wish that sort of loss upon anyone else.” 

“I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do but prepare.” She explains, her eyes scanning the room, her stare creeping up and down your body like an insect. 

“How are we to trust you?” Dirk growls, gaze cutting like the colored shards of glass hanging at seemingly random points from the ceiling. “How are we to confide in your word when you’ve yet to even tell us your name?”

The Witch doesn’t grace the Prince with a smile this time. She clutches the gemstones strewn around her neck, your hand flying to your own chest as you catch a breath you hadn’t even known you’d lost.

“Jade,” you say, winded, “Her name is Jade. We can trust her.”

Dirk turns to face you slowly, and it’s all you can see. The matter in question, now, is whether the Prince trusts  _ you _ . The hardness of his eyes, the tension tightening every tendon in his body tells you he doesn’t. The sharp inhale of breath through his teeth and his furrowed brow has you cowering inward, words that weren’t yours to say dying in your throat. But;

“Fine,” Dirk exhales, arms crossed behind his back as he stands, attentive. He spits his next word out like a curse,  _ “Jade.” _

Jade seems to ignore him as she turns her back to the group, jaunting to her cauldron with grace. She waves her finger over the steam in a motion mimicking stirring. The steam curves around her hands and fingers. 

She glances at your group once again before snapping. The room’s light is almost drained completely, the weak flickering of the fire lighting Jade’s figure. She shakes her hand over the eerie mist once again. It dances into the air above your group before separating into two equal parts. One begins to glow purple while the other turns gold. The purple forms into the shape of a moon, the other the sun; Derse and Prospit.

“Two kingdoms lived together in conformity; in kinship and trust,” Jade begins speaking as the two tufts of smoke curl into one another, circling around each other like a dog chasing his tail. “However as decades passed, as years progressed and people grew, the kingdoms were thrown off-balance, spiraling into darkness and despair.” The mist begins to circle itself faster and faster before the two groups spin, drifting away from each other pathetically. 

The two puffs of mist begin to form into human figures, both of them reaching out for each other in an act of anguish. Once their hands are about to meet, the mist disappears completely before forming into one, creating a purple castle resembling Derse. 

“With darkness and despair comes turmoil,” Jade explains as the castle begins to grow  darker, more sinister. Small wisps of smoke shoot out of nowhere at the castle like hundreds of spears and arrows. “With turmoil comes war.” 

Jade swipes her hand through the mist, causing it to curl away from her before it forms into the castle again, green trees grown around it. The mist is naturally blurry, but you can tell by the way the trees are swaying side to side that there is a soft breeze rustling through them. 

She faces your group, her eyes filled with sadness and a small sliver of fear. “War is coming again, my friends. Very soon.” 

The trees are engulfed by bright, orange flames, the castle drooping lower and lower, collapsing upon itself into a cloud of dust. 

“There is darkness and despair here in Derse. I can feel it.” 

“What can we do to stop it?” John asks, tearing your eyes away from the sight. 

Jade shakes her head. “I’m afraid there’s nothing you can do to stop it, Hunter. But I know of ways to make it easier.” She waves her hands in the air once again, the mist swirling around each of them. “You must have hope,” in her right hand, a bright, golden pair of wings twists out to form intricate branches. “And you must have heart,” a dark pink heart, with one side hollow, pulses into existence in her left hand. 

“Is this what you lured us here for? To show us some tricks and then give us a pep talk?” Dirk asks, irritation pushing into his voice. 

“No,” Jade says, waving her hands and dispelling the mist, the light returning back to the room. You blink, your eyes adjusting once again. “I’ve an offer for you.” 

She turns, her dress swishing smoothly on the wooden floor, Becquerel right at her heel as she makes her way over to the cauldron. Your group gravitates towards it, lining up along the rim as she knocks some herbs off the walls and into her hands as she comes to join you. The Witch starts to hum as she drops the herbs into pot, its contents churning and fizzing as the color changes. Your glasses are getting steamed up, and it’s probably not very healthy to inhale all the sweet-smelling smoke coming from the mixture, but you can’t help it. This very moment is what you and Dirk dreamed of as children, and you’ll absorb every moment if it kills you.

“I can give you information. Dersian secrets. Prospitan plans. Friends and foes that walk both among you and outside the kingdom boundaries,” Jade says, images swirling together in the cauldron. The solution is a murky charcoal that hurts your head when you stare too long. The Witch’s voice clashes with murmurings you hear in the back of your mind.

“You can, but you won’t,” the Prince says, bitter. “Not unless you receive something in return.”

“Precisely,” Jade smirks, waving her hand over the pot in a circular motion so that the mixture turns with it. “I can give you information… for a price. I know how valuable it will be in the future. So I simply wish for something valuable in return. I may be a ‘witch,’ but I am fair, don’t you think?”

“What is it that you want from us?” You question, mind running through all of your possessions. You don’t have much to your name at all. Your bow? Your royal robes? You’ve no family, no jewels, no-

“Your memories,” Jade says, and the air goes still. It’s as if time itself has frozen around you.

“Our... memories.” You repeat, as if to confirm to yourself that you heard her correctly. 

“Yes, your memories,” Jade affirms, looking up from the mixture she’s begun brewing. “You and your comrades must bind your souls to mine, feeding me power. I will be able to help you with extreme challenges five times, in exchange for a memory of one the asker loves the most.” 

“What happens if we need help a sixth time?” John asks. 

Jade takes a moment to reply, allowing the suspense to build and eat you all alive.

“Then, in return, the asker will give me every memory of the one they love the most.” She says after a while, a small smile forming on her face. It seems as if she enjoys breaking this news to you, as if she knows it’s going to end up happening in the end. 

John’s face goes pale and his body tenses, so you gently place a hand on his shoulder. “It will be fine, John. We are strong enough on our own. We won’t need her help more than five times.” 

Jade doesn’t reply to your statement but the look on her face definitely reveals that she believes otherwise. You choose to ignore it for John’s and your sake. 

“All right, then we will accept your offer.” You say. Jade opens her mouth to reply, but Dirk cuts her off. 

“Jake, what do you mean we’ll accept her offer? She’s a  _ witch. _ You heard the stories when we were young, witches never have good intentions.” Dirk hisses. At this point, you can tell Jade really doesn’t like Dirk, but despite her obvious frustration, she remains calm and collected.

“Dirk,” you murmur quietly, your hand moving to gently grasp the other boy’s forearm. “If a war is upon us, then we need all the help we can get.” 

Dirk tenses under your touch, but once he catches your eye, he seems to calm. It reminds you of the soft, subtle winds after a tremendous storm. They are hesitant, but they are still there. They make themselves known. 

“Fine,” Dirk says finally, turning to face Jade. “What do we need to do?”


	4. A Boy and His Longing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone, sorry this chapter took so long - cole and i are two of the biggest procrastinators to walk the earth. anyways, i hope you all enjoy it ! there's lots more to come.
> 
> cole's tumblr: shirostrider  
> my tumblr: eggtobiology

The King is pleased with you and your company by the time you return to his drawing room later that evening. You decided on the way back to tell him that it was a simple old woman who lived in the cabin that the guards found suspicious. You also returned the Princess’ necklace, telling him the disappearance had all been a mishap. He was suspicious at first, but he seemed to trust Dirk. 

In exchange for the work you and the rest of your hunters had done, the King allowed John and Jane to stay in the castle that night. John is beyond excited, whooping and hollering while being escorted to his room. It earns him some dirty looks from the guards and other castle-goers, but you doubt he notices; and if he does, he doesn’t care. He is as light as the summer’s breeze.

Dave walked with him as the guards led your group to their rooms. The rooms they’d be sleeping in were in your quarters; nothing extravagant but still more than they’d ever even seen.

Dave and John are laughing and joking as they always do. You envy them; you wonder what it is like to still find humor in the world, to laugh freely and actually mean it.

John and Dave have always been great friends. You remember the time you and Dirk were exploring, playing pretend in the forest. You were around twelve years old, returning from the forest after witch hunting. You were on your way to your village.

Dirk loved your village because he was never expected to act so princely all of the time,  _ and  _ he could say bad words as he pleased.

You and Dirk were weaving your way through the trees, whacking branches out of your ways, kicking pebbles in your paths just to see the dust they’d create. Suddenly, you heard a stick crack in the distance, and you and Dirk froze in your tracks.

“It’s the witch!” Dirk whisper shouted, and both of you ducked behind the closest bush. 

“She’s angry at us!” You said. “She’s getting her revenge on us for watching her.”    


Dirk placed his palm over your mouth. “Be quiet,” he said. “Or she’ll hear us!”

You heard footsteps nearing your direction, and you and Dirk huddled close together, holding your breath. You soon saw a mop of messy, blonde hair appear over the brush. You knew it wasn’t the witch. 

“Dave?” Dirk spoke up finally, raising an eyebrow and standing up, pulling his hand away from your face. “What are you doing out here without supervision? You’re far too young.” 

“I wanted to know what you two do all the time, wasting all hours of the day.” Dave said simply as you joined Dirk and stood up. 

“We simply wander the forest,” Dirk lied, keeping your witch hunting a secret.

“That’s a lie and I know it!” Dave demanded, frowning. “You both go to that cabin, out in the middle of the forest, away from the kingdom!”

“Keep your voice down, Dave!” Dirk shushed his brother, hissing out the words. 

“Tell me what you do out there all day,” Dave said, crossing his arms. 

You and Dirk glanced at each other nervously, silently conversing to debate who was to explain. After a while, you decide to speak up. 

“We watch the house to see if the witch comes out,” You explained quietly.

Dave’s hard expression disappeared and his eyes lit up with a certain childish curiosity. “A witch?” 

“Yes! A witch. But we’re done for today and heading back to Jake’s village before sundown. Hurry along before father grows suspicious.” Dirk replied, grabbing your hand and turning to continue your trek. 

“Let me come with you!” Dave called after you, hurrying to catch up. 

“No!” Dirk said. “Go back to the kingdom. We don’t want to play with little kids.” 

Dave stopped walking. “I’ll tell father where you two go if you don’t let me come with you.”

Dirk stopped, turning his head to glare at Dave from over his shoulder. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would! Watch me.” Dave challenged, the smirk on his face telling you that he knows he’s won.

Dirk sighed loudly, dramatically. “Fine. But be quiet and don’t bother us.”

Dave smiled excitedly, scurrying after the two of you to catch up.

Dirk has a frown on his face, clearly bothered by the fact that Dave would be tagging along. You squeeze his hand, and he looks over at you, his expression softening just a little.

“I know someone who will be able to keep him occupied.” You say with a smile.

* * *

You arrived at your village some time later. It was late afternoon, the sun looming over the horizon like an animal waiting to attack its prey.

The village was bustling with activity, your peers hurrying around to get food gathered and prepared for supper.

You and Dirk were walking hand-in-hand, as you usually did, Dirk’s eyes wide with wonder as he took in the surroundings of your village, as if he was seeing it for the first time. Dave followed along with the two of you, a similar expression on his softer features.

You eventually stop at one of the cabins near the small stream where you collected water with your grandmother.

“Will you and Dave be staying for dinner?” You asked as you stepped up to the humble cabin’s front door.

Dirk nodded.  “I would like to, but you have to walk back to the kingdom with me after sundown so father knows we weren’t alone or lost.”

“It’d be my  _ pleasure _ , your highness!” You say in your most princely voice, making Dirk giggle.

You knocked on the door, stepping back.

“Why are we here?” Dave asked, raising a brow.

“You’re going to make a new friend!” You said excitedly. “You and him will be just as close as Dirk and I are.”   


“Dirk told me that he loves you,” Dave explained.

Dirk’s face went deep red, and you were sure yours did as well. “Dave!” He hissed, “I told you never to repeat that.”

Dave’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, oops.”

The door swung open, causing all of you to jump. A boy around three years younger than you- Dave’s age- stood on the threshold. He was a bit shorter than you, but little did he know, in the future, he’d grow to be at least a few inches taller, around Dirk’s height. He had windswept, unruly hair, dark as a raven’s feathers. His teeth peeked over his lips.

“Hi, Jake!” He exclaimed, a smile on his face that lit up his ocean eyes; but his face twisted into confusion when he saw the unfamiliar blonde standing beside you. “Who is that?”

Dave’s cheeks were rosy behind his freckles, his eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

“This is Dave,” you said happily, pushing him towards the other boy. “You two can play until supper is ready.”

John’s face lit up once again, offering his hand in greeting. “Hi!” He smiled widely, “I’m John! We’re gonna be the best of friends!

* * *

By the time John and Jane are shown to their chambers and you’ve all washed up, it’s night time. You and Dirk are left alone in the grand hallway connecting all of the sleeping quarters. The silence is awkward and cold, leaving a heavy sort of ring in your ears that makes you want to scream.

“I will see you tomorrow, Dirk,” you say, turning to walk toward your room before you feel Dirk’s hand on your shoulder, firm but gentle at the same time. You turn once again to face him.

His expression is soft, but part of him looks like it’s fighting the other. He does not want to look soft.

The silence returns as you wait for him to speak.

“I do not want to be alone yet tonight. Not after that.” His voice echoes off of the walls before fading away, lost to the shadows of Derse.

Memories of the witch’s house flood back into your mind, chilling you to your very core. The process of “binding your soul” to Jade’s was nothing like you could have imagined, nothing anyone would  _ want  _ to.

“As you wish, your majesty,” you murmur, looking into his eyes and nodding slowly.

Dirk leads you along the great, long hallways; up the twisting, grand stairways; through hidden passageways tucked away in dusty corners. It takes you a moment to realize that he’s leading you to his personal cabinet, a place you’ve only been twice before in passing.

He pushes his door open, and you have to hold your breath.

The walls are painted in dark purple, with intricate patterns drawn over it in a lighter shade, lined with a bright, sparkling gold. There are large paintings hung on the walls, lit by the generous amount of candles scattered about the room; one of his family, the kingdom, the forest surrounding Derse, and one of himself. He catches you gazing at it and snorts. “I hate that one.” 

You laugh in response, and he joins you. A light, contented feeling buds in your stomach, like a flower given a chance to grow after a long drought.

You turn to take in the rest of the room: the oak floor without a single scratch or blemish on it, the huge bed with violet pillows and blankets with gold tassels, four posts extending toward the ceiling with a lavender canopy hanging over it.

You feel like a ghost here, an intruder, out of place and not welcomed in the slightest. Like the worst sort of burden, one Dirk must carry on his back.

You shake your head, backing away from the bed. “I shouldn’t be here. I am not welcome…” Your voice trails off when Dirk takes your hand. You flinch, looking down at it. The bandage is still securely wrapped around your palm, stained with the blood still oozing out of the wound.

“You are tonight,” he replies quietly.

“Who says?”

“I say. Are you in pain?”

You nod. “Yes. It still hurts.”   


Dirk nods. “Mine does, too.”

The process of binding yourself to the witch was one of the most nerve-wracking things you’ve ever done; and not the good kind that makes your adrenaline run, but the kind that makes your blood run cold as it pools in your palm, the kind that makes your heart pound so hard you fear it’ll explode.

She made all of you gather around the cauldron, the strong smoke drifting off the mixture and making your heart hurt and your eyes water. She told each of you to envision a fond memory of someone that you love the most, to “offer it up to her.” She then told each of you to pass her dagger around and slice the palm of your hand open, allowing the blood to drip into the cauldron. Once all of you were done, the mixture had turned to a bright, golden color. Its sparkling and fizzing was mesmerizing and it was hard to tear your eyes away from it.

Thinking about it makes your wound pulse, the sting of the cold blade dragging through your skin coming back to you.

“You can sleep here tonight,” Dirk says, releasing your hand and walking over to his windowsill overlooking the royal gardens, discarding his gaudy overshirt along the way. “I’d hate to make you walk all the way back to your cabinet. You must be tired.”

“There is only one bed,” you argue, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Where is Ampora?”

Dirk tenses at the mentioned name, but continues to speak. “Eridan and I are not to share a bed until we are married.” Dirk is gazing out the window at the moon-bathed gardens. “Father considers it unlawful otherwise.”

“So wouldn’t you and I sharing a bed also be unlawful?” You ask, still standing awkwardly by the door, playing with your fingers absent-mindedly.

Dirk shrugs, turning his head to face you. “We simply won’t speak of it. It’s not like father cares enough to check if I’ve waken up yet come morning.” He scoffs. “But if need be, you can sneak out before then.”

There’s silence as you consider, staring down at your twiddling thumbs. You can feel his gaze on the side of your head, patiently awaiting your decision. Somehow, the atmosphere’s changed; it’s no longer awkward, but amicable. Respectful.

“I’ve no nighttime clothes here.” You say, timid. When you lift your chin, Dirk has the shimmer of a smile on his face as he stands, crossing his arms behind him politely.

“You can borrow mine, if you’d like,” he says, beckoning you to his dresser. His positive attitude sends a shiver down your spine, and you suddenly feel like a kid again. He offers you clothes and privacy and you disrobe with a smile on your face and memories of “secret sleepovers” in your head, oil lanterns under ratty blankets and storybooks open on random pages to create a fable of your own.

Once you finish changing into Dirk’s clothes, you look down at yourself. The silky garments hang loosely off of your body, and you allow yourself to feel a shred of pride to be wearing such princely, fine apparel.

You leave the washroom to find Dirk laying back on his bed, his arms folded behind his head. He’s looking up at the canopy hanging over his bed, scars shining on his bare torso in the moonlight, but when he hears your footsteps against the cold, wood floor, he looks up. Another small smile is resting on his face. 

“They’re a bit big,” You say, making your way over to the bed to sit down next to him on top of the blankets.

Dirk’s smile grows as he examines you. You can’t tell if his smile is of fondness or if he’s silently making fun of you. Either way, you admire the softness in his eyes and decide against commenting.

Dirk’s eyes wander down to your hand. “Perhaps we should change your bandage.”

“You really don’t have to,” you object, but Dirk is already leaning over to reach into his nightstand, grabbing another piece of fabric similar to the one you got from Jade. He moves to sit across from you, taking your right hand and turning it over, peeling the bloodstained cloth off your wound. The blood is dry and crusty around the gash.  Dirk sets the cloth on his nightstand before turning back to wrap the new bandage around your hand.

All is silent for some time as Dirk carefully tends to your wound. He’s focusing intently, brows furrowed as he works. You look up at him, chewing on your lower lip. It seems as if you’ve forgotten how to speak tonight.

“I could kiss your palm,” Dirk speaks, soft, so you don’t have to. “Used to work when we were children. I doubt the magic has gone away.”

You chuckle as the Prince finally ties the bandage, finished. “After today?” You say, matching his tone, “The magic must be stronger. There’s technically… there’s a connection between us as well, yes? I think it’d work now better than ever.”

“I think the connection has always been there, Jake,” Dirk says, moving to lay back again. “We didn’t need the witch for that.”

You lay back as well, waiting a moment to reply. You fold your hands over your stomach, looking up at the bed’s canopy. Dirk’s sweetness tonight is almost unnerving. This side of him has been gone for so long, kept from the rest of the world like fish under a frozen lake. Spring has come, melting away the frostbitten marrow in his bones, reviving his livelihood. He’s gotten under the covers now, the smile still on his childish face, making his eyes light up.

You lay down next to him, feeling too nervous to climb under the covers with him. You don’t know if you’re allowed to be that close. Dirk is still smiling, however, and you raise an eyebrow. “Have you gone mad?”

Dirk considers this. “A bit, yes.”

You laugh, “Oh, dear. We’ll have to send you off, then, won’t we? It was lovely having you around, my Prince. I’ll miss you.”

Dirk laughs, and the world stops to listen. “I know you get cold,” he murmurs, “It’s warmer under here.”

You decide not to argue- you  _ are  _ cold, and Dirk invited you. You’re also having trouble finding the right words to speak. Even in your head they’re clumsy and chopped, tripping over each other, struggling to get up again.

You climb under the blankets nervously. Dirk was right; it  _ is _ warmer. He’s so close to you, his heat seeping into the mattress and warming you like a fire pit.

You’re facing him, his eyes locked on yours, yours on his. He takes your right hand with his left, your respective bandaged hands, placing your palm against his own. Your heart is somehow still in your chest; not lifeless, but waiting for what’s to come eagerly, holding its breath. 

Dirk’s arms move slowly, but they’re eager all the same. They loop around your waist and pull you against him, your breath catching in your throat. Suddenly, Dirk’s lips are on yours. They’re moving gently, slowly, hesitant all at once. 

Your hands slide up his bare stomach and stop to rest on his chest, your fingers curling when Dirk grips onto your hips, pulling them into his own. 

You don’t know what to feel. It’s been such a long time since your heart was set aflame in such a way. You know that in the morning when you wake, things will go back to their usual. Dirk’s icy eyes will continue to refuse to meet your’s. His voice will be dead and cold, devoid of the life and warmth you know he harbors somewhere deep inside. 

You know that a Prince is not to lay with a Hunter.

And yet.

His fingers are tracing constellations on your spine, eyes bright when you part to breathe- so often that you don’t want to. You could live forever on the click of his teeth against yours when you’re too eager to aim, his breathy chuckle afterwards, the sigh he lets out between your lips as you slip your fingers through his hair.

He’s beautiful, solid, so very  _ warm _ entangled in your limbs; you forget he’s ever been whisps of a dream in the dead, cold night. You forget everything but how to hitch your leg over his hip and press him back against the indigo comforter.

He gasps, and you feel like you’re on top of the world- or yours, at least. Your (his) shirt got rucked up in the process and his fingers slip from your hip to your bare waist. You sit back on his hips and you don’t know where this is coming from, you didn’t know you could be so  _ bold _ with Dirk- you tug on the collar of your shirt to pull it over your head.

“Jake,” Dirk says, voice cracked, and you’re filled with pride at being able to affect your Prince like this. He takes your hand to pull you back down and you go, eyes closed to kiss him again. Instead, you find your face pressed against the pillow beside his head as he kisses your shoulder and lets out a shaky, “We can’t.”

Your heart is no longer in your chest, but in your throat. His mouth is pressed to your skin and his eyes are squeezed shut, hands balled in the loose fabric of your (his) pants. You press your hand to his cheek, eyes raptly watching his face, murmuring, “Have I done something wrong?”

“Never, Hunter,” he laughs, shaking his head. His lips catch the edge of your palm and he kisses the center of it. “It’s the stars that are wrong.”

You don’t really know what he means by this, and so you remain silent, your shaky breaths mingling with his. His fingers continue to smooth shapes on your hips, tucked into the waistband of your pants. Your skin feels too hot and too cold at once, mouth open in shaky inhales and exhales. 

You want to challenge Dirk. You want to ask him “why not? Why can’t we?” Surely he doesn’t love Eridan, he can’t. Who could love such a foul ruler? Love, however, doesn’t seem to matter. The marriage will still happen even if Eridan and Dirk despised each other, for it is what the Prospitian and Dersite rulers wish. Dirk may be a Prince, but when it comes to the King his wants and pleas are as good as worthless.

It’s unfair. You want to scream, you want to argue and fight until you can finally get what you want. But you won’t. Instead, you roll off of Dirk and lay beside him, staring up at the canopy above you. Suddenly, it no longer appears luxurious and beautiful, but grim and threatening, like darkness closing in to strangle your final screams out of you. 

Your breathing has become much less ragged, but your heart still thuds in your chest like a drum beckoning battle. Dirk is silent aside from his slow, deep breaths. You wonder if he’s asleep. 

The dimly lit candles about the room cause shadows to dance quickly around the furniture, across the walls. The gardens through Dirk’s window are dark, lit by the moonlight and small, curious fireflies weaving their ways through the air. Something resembling a figure wanders wearily through the courtyard, casting a bluish glow on the leaves, ground, and statues around it. A spirit. You roll onto your side facing Dirk quickly. It is bad luck to be caught watching a spirit at such dark hours.

Dirk is still on his back, staring up. His eyes look like they’re searching for something.

“Are you all right?” You ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“Yes,” Dirk answers.

“Are you worried that Eridan is going to find out? About...what we’ve done?”    


Your question is met with Dirk’s soft chuckle. “Of course not,” he’s smiling. “To hell with Eridan.”

By then, you’re laughing with him. Soon, it is silent again. 

Dirk turns to face the wall away from you with a soft, content-sounding sigh. “Goodnight, Jake.” He says.

“Goodnight, Dirk.” You reply.

You have trouble sleeping that night, tossing and turning and overthinking. Your head and heart feel as if they’ve been set aflame, and all you want to do is run — run as far away from Derse and Prospit as possible. It’s not the first time thoughts such as these have kept you from slumber, but tonight is different. Intense, shockingly so. 

Perhaps it is the spirit.


	5. A Boy and His Shame

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter took ages and we apologize so much for that! Jake's a VERY busy guy and I'm, like, Dead™.  
> There's smut in this chapter, as a warning; neither of us are very experienced in writing it so bear with us. It's more emotional smut than anything. Makes sense when you read it (hopeully). — ALSO, WARNING: dubcon themes for that smut, but it is a consensual kismesis-like relationship! (And one of our guilty ships in this fic... we love them,,,)  
> Enjoy! Things are kicking off soon!

_Jake_

 

You wake the next morning to sunshine spilling in through the window like water from the courtyard’s great fountain. Judging by its milky, soft glow, it is morning.

You sit up, your limbs feeling heavy, head just as murky as the light shining onto the dark purple sheets. You look around, wondering where Dirk has gone. Your eyes wander to the foot of the bed, where you see your clothes from yesterday folded neatly. They look as if they’ve been washed, the dirt from your travel to the witch’s house the day before is faded a great deal.

You move to stand, legs swinging off of the side of the bed. You yawn as you stand up, arms stretching up and above your head. Suddenly, your hand throbs and you’re forced to remember the events of the day before. The witch, the ritual. You shudder before pulling Dirk’s shirt off, holding it in your hands for a moment, fingering the silky fabric gently. You pull your own shirt on, forgetting what it was like to be royal for a moment.

As you dress for the day, you try to forget what happened the night before. It isn’t often that you lose control, but when your fingers graced Dirk’s skin, his lips on yours, you lost yourself in the best way you could possibly imagine.

You push Dirk’s door open, careful not to draw too much attention to yourself. You walk down the hallway, your feet echoing off of the walls. It’s quiet, as it always is in the morning. The knights leave to train at sunrise, and the rest of the residents of the castle spend their time in the dining hall or crowding around the king in the drawing room.

You make your way to the end of the hall at last, stepping out of the door to the pasture, which led to the stables. The horses curiously peek their heads over the wooden fences caging them.

You walk further out into the field, where the Hunters’ old training grounds are. They were used when there was a ruler who respected the Hunters and the work they did; he even let them live alongside him in the castle. Now, the grounds are nothing more than a graveyard, stripped of its dignity just like the Hunters have been.

Rickety, old wooden targets line a mile or so of the overgrown grass, the wood broken and filled with rotting holes from arrows belonging to ancient heroes striking them over and over again.

You’d like to get the targets replaced some day, but the King would never care to and you have no say. It’s not as if they would be used, however. The Hunters are not wanted in the Kingdom, and they do not wish to be. Another part of you thinks it would be wrong to replace the Hunters’ ancient grounds. The wind that whispers through the trees are ancient voices of wonder or warning - you can’t quite tell, yet.

You make your way over to the more forested area of the field, kneeling down next to the tree whose trunk is clothed in bright, green moss.

A quiver is what you retrieve from the tree throw next to the roots of the great oak twisting through the rich soil. Soil falls from the inside of it, dusting off of the arrow’s head and back down to the earth. You run your fingers over cracked leather. It’s rough under your skin, telling stories just as the broken targets dotting the field behind you do. You’ve hidden this quiver here for emergencies and practice, leaving your finer ones back in your quarters.

You turn, making your way back to face the targets. The overgrown weeds seem to tug at your boots as you walk, causing you to stumble a couple of times on the way. Perhaps the winding tendrils are the cursed spirits of fallen warriors, trying to drag you down with them. _No,_ you want to tell them. _I still have much to do._

The wind weaves its way through your hair effortlessly, your dark brown locks lightly whisking around your face. You sling the quiver over your shoulder. You pull one of the arrows out of the quiver, its head flattened and its fletching ripping ever-so-slightly. You nock the arrow, drawing it back slowly to the anchor point, the fletching’s soft feather brushing against your nose. You peer down the arrow at the target, taking deep breath and then releasing the bowstring, the arrow quickly zipping through the air and crashing into the target. It doesn’t land in the bullseye, though; it’s off to the side, gracing the outskirts. You sigh softly, jumping when you hear a footstep from behind you. You turn to glance over your shoulder, taken back when you see Dave standing before you.

He looks almost nothing like Dirk, but he and his brother share the same freckles dusted over their cheeks, the same sharp features and intense eyes. Dave is clad in his armor, having just finished training.

“What brings you here?” You ask, moving your bow to rest at your side.

“I was bored,” he replies simply before reaching into his pocket, pulling out two small objects wrapped in cloth. “I’ve brought rolls.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Stolen?”

A smile tugs at Dave’s lips. “Right from the kitchen. Father will have to wait on his breakfast’s side dish.”

You smile. “Then let’s eat.”

 

* * *

  

You and Dave have made your way out into the forest, sitting against a tree with a thick trunk surrounded by soft, green grass. The morning sun shines upon the two of you, warming your legs.

“If I knew you were this hungry, I would have brought more,” Dave states.

“I didn’t eat last night,” You reply, taking another bite out of your roll. It’s still warm, seasoned strongly with herbs. “The trip to that house was disturbing, it made me lose my appetite.”

“The witch’s house?” Dave asks. “John told me.”

“Of course he did.” You chuckle.

It’s quiet for a moment as you finish your food. You move your bow to rest in your lap, hands moving to unstring it. You reach into your pocket to find your bow stringer, the length chord with two leather pockets on both ends. You place the larger pocket on the lower limb, making sure it fits tightly.

“What are you doing?” Dave asks suddenly.

You glance over at him curiously, hands still working at your bow. “I’m unstringing my bow.”

Dave shakes his head, taking the last bite of his roll and then licking his fingers. Not very royal-like, but you make no comment. Dave has never been one to try to fit in with the way the rest of his family acts.

“That’s not what I meant.” He says. He’s being cryptic, and a lot less upbeat than usual.

“Then what did you mean?” You ask. You place the smaller pocket on your bow’s upper limb. You move your bow into a horizontal position, your right hand near the upper limb’s tip, your left on the central handle. You push your foot onto the stringer’s cord with both of your feet until you can’t push it any further, and then you lift the bow until the string goes slack.

“I know what you and Dirk were up to last night, Jake.” He says softly, which makes you pause your work for a moment.

“Did Dirk tell you?”

Dave nods. “Yes. And unless Dirk can somehow get rid of the Amporas, you need to stop. Now.”

You carefully unhook the bowstring from the upper limb of your bow before moving to unhook the lower. You remove the string and the stringer, placing them in your pocket gently. You sit back and observe the skeleton of your weapon, running your hand along its smooth, wooden surface.

“I know. It will not happen again. We had a perilous night. We were scared, relished in each other’s company.” You pause. “I’m sure that if Eridan were there, he would’ve done so with him.”

Dave tenses for a moment, his lips a straight line. His eyes are unreadable as he speaks. “I’m not so sure. He isn’t even to lay with _Eridan,_ let alone with you.”

It’s harsh, but you know he didn’t intend it to be that way. “I know that,” you murmur, moreso to yourself than to the other.

“Good,” Dave replies, looking over at you one more time before standing, dusting himself off. “You’re not stupid, Jake. Don’t be stupid.” With that, he turns, walks off towards the field.

Once you can no longer hear his footsteps in the grass, you stand. Your quiver falls from your shoulder, and you look down at the ground curiously. Kneeling to see what the cause was, you notice the strap was threadbare, ripped. You think it might be time to find a new quiver.

 

* * *

 

_Dirk_

 

You walk through familiar stone halls, hands balled into fists and crossed behind your back. You are the Prince of Derse. Tension should not make your joints ache, should not make you glance through your periphery at every corner and turn of the castle walls. This is your kingdom. This is your home. This is all you have ever known and it will not change just because some golden codpiece showed up to whisk you off your feet.

And what a job he does, too. You reach the throne room, tracing the ornate carvings of the door with your fingers gingerly to stall the coming events for a few seconds longer before pushing them open. The indigo cathedrae sit in the center of the room, jewels and fabrics hanging over the arms and backs, velvety carpets rolling on toward grand doors. Near the throne stands Ampora himself, caressing the plum furs that make up the cushioning of the seats. He smirks to himself, the bastard, when he hears your footsteps on the stone floor.

“You always come back,” he says, straightening his back and lifting his chin to face you. His arms fall fluidly behind his torso, gold cloths standing stark to the purple background. Jewels adorn his fingers, his nose, his ears, his neck; emeralds and rubies and glittering sapphires. You knew other Princes were gaudy, but this has to be a little overboard.

“You are always waiting,” you reply, sharply turning your head up to match his stance. You will not fall in front of him, not again. You are the _Prince of Derse._ Heir to the throne. Ampora is but a minnow winding between your legs. You continue forward.

Eridan matches you, gliding ahead. The area behind the throne, where you stand, is barren of garish accessories. The servants and such usually occupy the area to provide assistance during grand events, peeking at crowds of royalty from their humble, peasant space.

Your long strides meet in the middle of the room and you circle around each other. You feel your lip curl into a snarl, disgust and dread flooding your veins. Just being around him makes your skin crawl. When his hand lifts to meet your wrist, you shudder.

He laughs, smirk growing with pride. “Pitiful,” he starts, fingers slipping between yours, his other hand moving up to your waist. This is a familiar dance, a waltz you throw yourself into far too often. “A strong Prince like you, coming apart at the touch of my hand. Derse unraveling into Prospitian riches.”

You squeeze his hand in yours, free arm coming up to hook around his neck and pull him closer, lips close enough to his ear to rip it off with your teeth. The rage bubbling up inside you at his touch almost draws you to it. “Derse will never be yours,” you spit, jerking him to the side. Your feet follow suit, accustomed to stepping around each other. “You’re nothing but a Prospitian power-seeker. You wish to consume this land, chew it up and spit it out. Destroy it.”

“He’s got a brain behind the pretty face, too,” Eridan replies, voice as smooth and cold as ice. The hand on your waist grips you tighter, swinging you away from him. You’re startled, pressing closer to him in an attempt to stay upright. You hate every moment you spend there, loathe every inch of your body touching his. You feel so dizzy with someone else so close to you like this. “I don’t wish for the destruction of this kingdom. It’s far too useful for that. The resources, the peasants, the actual people,” he laughs at that, like he’s told the best joke. He leans in, brushing his jaw against yours. You’d recoil in disgust if his arm hadn’t worked its way around your back to keep you pressed to him. “The royalty is absolutely marvelous, as well. Good company. A good lay.”

Your cheeks heat furious and fast, and you scratch at the back of his neck. “I won’t have you tarnishing my name in such ways,” you snap, hushed. “As the Prince of the kingdom in which you reside, I command you cease this instant.” At this, you push away from his chest. Your hands stay entwined, however, and you only accomplish unraveling outward. You swear in the blur of the room you see glassy green eyes and a toothy grin, but blink to see only the darkness and flickering shadows of two fluid figures.

Eridan draws you back in, lips brushing your cheek as the onslaught of insults streams from his mouth. Your mind wanders to better, earlier days. Mornings spent dancing in sunlight with Jake, sneaking him into the throne room in order to dress him in violet silks and amber. You’d hold his hand, step on each other’s feet, laugh as you spun together, even as you fell to the floor.

You’d tell him that you had to practice how to dance for the upcoming ball, but always decline when the opportunity arose during the event. You’d feign illness if the King questioned, and dodged your brother’s knowing smile. Jake never found out the truth: that you danced with him, only him, because you liked his hand in yours, the way he laughed in starlight, eyes glistening in merriment.

You remember, even though the claws in your side will you back. Dangerous iris bores into you, a hand slipping up your back to grip your hair. You go pliant like molding clay, closing your eyes to waft in memories of the forest in the middle of Summer, splinters in your fingertips and smudged glasses perched on a nose a breath away from you.

The kiss to your chin sobers you, breaks you instantly out of your reverie and has you clawing at Eridan’s chest. He spins you again and your back collides with one of the walls. The hand at your waist is holding on tight enough to bruise, his lips dragging along your jaw and to your ear. You grip his collar, pushing with all your might to slam him against the wall beside where you just were. You’re seething, breath escaping your teeth in harsh inhales and exhales.

“How dare you?” you bite out, jostling his shoulders where they dig into the stone. “How dare you- _touch me_ like that. I am a _Prince,_ Ampora.”

Not a sliver of fear passes on his face, his hooded eyes flicking between your eyes and your mouth. It drives you _mad._ “As am I, Strider,” he replies, one hand smoothly sliding down to your neck. “Unless, of course, you’ve forgotten. I’m always glad to give you a reminder.”

The rings on his fingers cut into the skin of your neck as he grips it, pulling you closer. You refuse to wince, not even react, as he mutters directly into your ear once again, “Soon you will call me your _King._ ”

“Follies,” you snap, pressing your arm to his throat. “ _Lies._ You will be _nothing_ in Derse.” His breath is caught and you can feel him struggling at your wrist. Against your will, you loosen your hold. Eridan’s lips fall apart in realization. You hate yourself for it.

“As if you don’t wish for it,” he rumbles, tilting his head to look properly into your eyes. “As if you don’t wish for me to have the same power over everyone else as I do over you.” You’re caught off-guard by such claims, and he uses it to his advantage, pushing you away from him but following close behind. The hand in your hair yanks and you gasp as he presses his lips to yours. You’re entirely unable to hold back the groan that escapes you, fingers tightening in his stupid puffy shirt. You give up fighting it- what’s the point when you both know what you came here for- and your body goes slack.

Eridan smiles, sharp teeth scraping your lips. “That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, petting down the side of your neck like he owns you. He might as well own your body, the way he pulls every string to hang you up like a puppet and play out his own fantasy show. It’s not like you’re particularly opposed to letting go of control every once in a while.

“A pretty little Princess for me, aren’t we?” he continues, almost laughing. Your cheeks darken, gaze casted onto loose pebbles on the throne room floor. You’re being degraded, used, ridiculed in your own kingdom. Your own castle walls.

“I am your Prince,” you say, strong through your wavering voice. “I ask that at the very least, you respect me enough to address me as such.”

Eridan seems taken aback. His hands release their grip on your hair, slipping down your arms before they fall to his side. He cocks his head once again, questioning, “You are _my_ Prince, aren’t you? Nothing to do with that unseemly Hunter.”

Your chin jerks up, amber eyes ablaze. “Don’t speak of him,” you forcefully snap. You push at his shoulders, breath short, as you continue, “He has nothing to do with… our activities. Keep his name and his position out of your pompous mouth.”

“I’ve no reason to learn the name of such lowly filth,” Eridan sneers in disgust. He flicks the edge of his collar, gliding toward the doorway. Once he reaches the threshold, he glances at you over his shoulder. “Your cabinet, I presume?”

You squeeze your eyes shut, hand coming up to rub the bridge of your nose. You’re so irritated but so…

“My cabinet,” you hear yourself say with a sigh, “I’ll let the guards know not to let anyone disturb.”

You look up in time to see Eridan grinning. “Very well. Thank you, your Highness,” he says, turning away with a flourish and heading down the hall.

 

* * *

 

Your head spins. The repeated patterns of the hallway tapestries do nothing to calm you. Your blood is boiling and you don’t know why. You hate Ampora, hate his smug attitude, hate _yourself_ for giving into him every time, hate that you’re making your way to your cabinet without a dagger hidden in your shirtsleeves.

You spot a guard nearby and beckon him over. His face says nothing as you speak, “I’m to have privacy in and around my quarters for the time being. Not a soul sees or hears of this. Understood?”

Before the guard has a chance to nod, Eridan slinks around the corner, smirk on his face. “We must consummate the rivalry in peace,” he says, one eyelid dropping in a wink.

“That is _quite_ enough from you,” you say, cheeks burning and bright as fire. You nod at the guard in apology before stalking off, grabbing Eridan by the collar and dragging him after you. That ought to belittle him, shame him. Even the tiniest bit.

And it does the trick, for the most part. He splutters all the way to your cabinet before successfully swatting your hand away (when you let go), gaping at you in your small drawing room. “How _dare_ you?” He exclaims, stomping a foot on the carpeted ground.

You ignore him, taking your time removing your shoes, unbuttoning your shirt. Your clothes fall carefully over the back of a chair, tucked neatly underneath each other in order not to crumple to the ground. Goosebumps rise on your chest and your arms in the stale, cold room. You toss another log in the low fire burning at the front, standing over it and waiting.

Eridan always leads these nights. You simply succumb to his desire, his control; let him take your body and use you up until you can’t think about anything anymore. He leaves immediately after, lets you sleep or think or read. There isn’t a second you don’t loathe him, though; not a moment where you don’t want to kick him away, far from your kingdom. Far from you.

His hands land on your hips, the fingers of one slick and slippery on your skin. You close your eyes, turning to place a hand at the back of his neck and pull him in. Your fingers squeeze the sides of his neck, making him gasp so you can slip your tongue between his lips. The slick hand trails up your side then down your back, tucking into the back of your trousers. You shiver on an exhale, willing yourself to relax. This isn’t the first time. It won’t be the last.

He tastes like something dark and bitter with the aftertaste of mint, his teeth pointed and scraping at your tongue, your lips. When you part, he turns his head, pushing at the small of your back to guide you to your bed. He hates seeing your face; hates looking into your eyes. Too personal, you assume. You never ask and he never tells.

Your knees hit the fabric and you fall face-first, crawling up to bury your head in your pillow. It doesn’t smell like you. As Eridan presses his fingers against you, you’re hit with memories of the night before. Jake sitting on your hips, hands running over every dip and raised scar in you skin.

You moan involuntarily thinking of dark brown hair and eyes like the jades hanging from the Witch’s ceiling. It causes Eridan to laugh from behind you, a whispered _whore_ under his breath as he opens you up, nails of his free hand raking down your side to leave scars. You sink down into your covers, limbs going soft and warm under the other Prince’s touch.

Soon, just when you feel ready, the warmth and touch of his hands are gone. You whine as he goes, blinking blearily over your shoulder. You can’t see much in the darkening room, other than the long and heavy object in Eridan’s hands. He unsheathes it, the sound of metal making your heart pound.

“What are you doing?” You question, flipping over to sit against your headboard and pulling the covers over your lap. The Prince of your rival kingdom has you naked and open for him on your own bed, with a sword in his hands. What a shameful way to go.

“A family heirloom, is it not?” Eridan ponders instead of replying, observing the metal. He turns it to hold it tip down, dropping the sheath and moving his hands to grip the blade. “Family jewels. Family name. The designs from the mind of the first King. A precious piece of Derse’s history.”

You scoot over on the bed, hand almost tucked into your pillowcase. There are rumors of the Dersian Prince sleeping with his sword in hand. The truth is that you sleep with a dagger beneath your head. “As every kingdom has, yes. Passed down to the heir of the throne.” You cock your head to the side, deciding to risk it all. If these are your last words, Eridan will have to recount them. Remember them. “Did Daddy not pass his sword down to you? Is Peixes the chosen holder of the Prospitian throne?”

In dim moonlight, you see a frown twist his face. His hands squeeze the blade, cutting into his hand just enough for blood to trickle down and drip to the floor. “Dualscar foolishly chose my brother to hold the sword,” he spits, bitter. “The imbecile got himself killed. It rests in no one’s hands.”

“So this is where your spite manifests,” you say, eyes trailing down the gleaming steel of the blade. Is it honorable to be beheaded with your own sword? “In killing your rival Prince. Seeking out my throne. Is that your aim?”

Eridan’s face softens with surprise, corners of his lips lifting nearly in a smile. “Kill you?” He questions, pulling a handkerchief out of his shirtpocket. You spare a moment to take in how silly he looks in his breeches and stockings while his ornate shirt and cape remain untouched.

He runs his handkerchief along the blade, cleaning up the blood easily, swiftly, as if the action is a regular occurrence. “I don’t wish to kill you, Dirk,” he says almost sweetly, stepping closer to the bed. For some reason, you relax, legs shifting open once again and hands slipping off your lap, the covers following them. “Surely you noted my unwillingness to get undressed when I’d rather defile your family name. This isn’t unusual.”

It clicks as he leans on the bed and rests a hand at your knee. Despite the pressure he applies to it to flip you over, you can’t let yourself go. Instead, you worry your lip between your teeth and grab his arm with a strong enough grip to grab his attention, weakly murmuring, “ _Eridan._ ”

He stops immediately, face turning up to look at yours. Your hand shakes where you’re gripping his arm and he lets go of your knee and the sword, placing both of his hands on your bed instead.

He doesn’t say a word- not one for comfort, anyway- only grips your chin and kisses you, softer than before. You appreciate it more than you’ll ever voice aloud, curling your fingers in the collar of his shirt and pulling him closer to you. He’s warm enough to make you shiver beneath him, knees bumping against his hips as he leans over you. You melt back into the sheets with his hands running down your sides, soft moans passing between the breath that separates your lips and Eridan’s when you part. Neither of you can tell where they originate from, swallowed up by the other too quickly to find out.

Your foot kicks out and collides with cold metal, and the fog in your head clears so that you can properly remember the situation you’re in. Eridan Ampora, your enemy, the Prince of your rival kingdom, is bent over your naked body with your family sword at the end of your bed. The sword which he fully intends to fuck you with, surely to haunt you until the end of your days.

You groan at the thought, out of aggravation and desire. Eridan chuckles, kissing along your jaw and down your neck, biting roughly and unforgiving.

“Careful, Ampora,” you curse, threading your hands through his hair and pulling. He meets your eyes, humming against your skin in question. You take a deep breath as his fingers press against you again- a reminder- before nodding your head, your hands releasing their grip.

Eridan grins cockily, kissing your sternum once more before gripping your hip, pushing at it to get you to turn over. It’s difficult with him so close to you, kissing and nipping at your collarbones, your shoulder. You gasp at a particularly aggressive bite to your upper arm, the hand on your hip slipping down to grip your arse. You nearly hiss through your teeth, digging your nails into his wrist.

“ _Careful,_ ” you groan again as your face gets shoved into the pillows, Eridan’s fingertips pressing into the base of your skull. His other hand runs along the curve of your back and you shiver, gripping the sheets but relaxing everywhere else. Eridan can sense it, probably hear it in the way you sigh out when he squeezes your thigh, massaging it gently and leaving it scarlet.

The steel of the hilt is cold against the heated skin of your legs. Goosebumps rise along your limbs and your breath goes short. His fingers continue to knead your thigh, working up, up, the sword following. It’s cold pressing against you but the stretch burns, the pain arches your back and rips a moan from your throat. You shove your red face into the sheets and bite down on the cloth, desperate to keep quiet and save the last shreds of your regality.

Eridan coos, running his blunt nails down your back and sucking marks into your neck. You should tell him to stop, that people are going to see- _your father is going to see_ \- but you don’t, and the shame bubbles up in your throat and chokes the words out of your mouth. You remember, suddenly, what the night before consisted of. How scared you were that your father would find out you’d been kissing your most trusted companion, pulling him closer and pushing all your desperation into his hips and his tongue.

You remember how eager he was, his tan skin ethereal in the candlelight, green eyes bright and passionate. You remember running your hands over his chest, scarred from battle and his daily hunt. The contact was never enough, you always wanted closer, more. You wanted to watch his pretty mouth part and rest your hand at his throat as he breathlessly said your name. Adrenaline runs through your veins, pulse quickening as you relive the thrill of danger and lust; being caught doing something so forbidden, being found out. You are no fool. You know there are spies in this castle. Anyone could have seen you take Jake by the hand into your cabinet- hell, the guard could be reporting to someone else at this very moment about you and Eridan.

But you didn’t care. You’d kissed Jake when you were young and foolish but it never felt that way- it’d felt like freedom and love and the bond you shared. Sealing your lips against his once more had you flushed with forbidden feelings for a forbidden person, ones you desperately tried to push down for so long. You lost control the one time you needed it most and it brought you nowhere but back to the bottom.

You hear Eridan snickering and feel the cool rings on his fingers against your cheek before you notice the wetness on your face. You don’t know what it is- maybe he spat on you to get your attention, it wouldn’t be the first time- until he smudges the substance beneath your eyes. You blearily look up at him, eyelashes stuck to each other from what is most definitely tears. His thumb traces your lower lip and you sob, desperately trying to regain control of the breath he’s pushing out of you. You bite down on his thumb- not enough to injure him, but surely enough to hurt- and rock back, head leaning on the pillow beneath you.

You don’t know how long you’ve been crying, but your fingers are sore from fisting the bedsheets and your body is strung like a wire, tense and desperate. You meet his eyes, pleading he take pity on you even though you were the one who asked for this. And he does, slipping the hand that was edging toward your mouth down your chest and between your legs. You’re more worked up than you thought, soiling the sheets in no time at all, shaking limbs giving out until you’re a limp mess of broken vocal chords and shattered dignity.

The pressure of the sword leaves you, thankfully, just as it was skirting the edge of too much. Eridan drops it beside you unceremoniously, making disgusted grunts as he presumably wipes his hands off on some precious article of clothing of yours.

“Forget about that Hunter,” he says, and you freeze, shallow breath cracking into a squeak. You’re about to protest, tears welling up in your eyes from frustration when he speaks again, tone dangerously serious, “And get yourself together, Dirk. A Prince isn’t to act like this and you know it. You’ll have a kingdom to rule soon.”

You curl into your pillow as he walks away, muffling the sound of your pitiful whimpering as best as you can. Your sheets are on the floor so you’ve no option but to lie there as your muscles burn, arse already sore and sensitive, feeling filthy and disrespectful to your kingdom, to your family, your father; to Jake.

Eridan pauses before he steps out the door, smirk on his face as he turns back to you. “I’ll see you in the twinkling of an eye, hm?” he says, mockingly bowing and tapping his chin. “Rest easy, your Majesty.”

He leaves soon after, the crackling of the wood in the firepit the only noise aside from your raspy breath and failing voice. You don’t know who you want to call out to, what you want or need; but the soft locks of raven-black hair that tickled your chin when you woke up in the morning are a soothing memory, almost like they existed only in a dream.

 

* * *

 

_Dave_

 

You roll over slowly, a sigh escaping your lips. You’re completely relaxed. The blankets are warm, soft against your bare skin. The other boy sits up, running a hand through his hair.

“When will you be back?” He asks softly.

“I’m not sure,” you say, and you feel him go tense beside you. You sit up, yawning. “Just be gone before sunrise.”

You roll out of bed, stretching your arms above your head. Karkat is still tense next to you, but you ignore it.

You slip your shirt on before turning to face him. “I’m going to visit Dirk.” You start walking toward your door, opening it when Karkat speaks. His voice is clipped, cold.

“Are you going to meet anyone on the way there?” He asks.

You shrug, smirking at him from over your shoulder. “I haven’t decided yet.”

You close the door behind you, careful not to make too much noise. It’s late, and the castle is fast asleep. Your footsteps echo softly against the marble floors.

Once you near Dirk’s cabinet, you stop in your tracks, blood boiling as anger rises in the pit of your stomach. Eridan Ampora is slipping out of the grand doorway, narrowed eyes, sly smile. He looks almost proud of himself, and you’re immediately sickened. He notices you, and he almost loses his composure for a moment, surprised at your presence.

“David,” he says, closing Dirk’s door behind him with a nod.

“ _Ampora,_ ” you spit. “What have you done?”

He hesitates before gaining his disgusting confidence once again. “Making sure my Prince knows who he belongs to.”

“You make me sick,” you snarl in reply. “He belongs to no one- no one but himself. He’ll never bow to the likes of you.”

“But he will,” Eridan argues, walking closer to you. You feel the urge to back up, but you can’t let him intimidate you. “And he has.”

You glare up at him as he nears you, raising your chin defiantly. His hand moves to grip your chin. “And so should you, if you know what’s good for you, Dave.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “Is that what’s good for me, Eridan?” You coo, leaning into his touch. A flicker of surprise crosses his face. “Sitting back while you torture my brother and try to destroy _my_ kingdom?” You push his hand away, shoving him back with the other. “Never.”

He laughs, turning to walk away. He raises a hand dismissively. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning for breakfast, David.”

You don’t reply, glaring after him as he walks. It’s only when he’s out of side that you rush the few steps toward Dirk’s door, wrenching it open and taking in the scene before you.

Your brother’s clothes are neatly arranged on a chair by the back wall, his boots tucked carefully underneath. The fire beside you is dim and low, but it’s the least of your worries once you hear the quiet weeping coming from the bedroom. The curtains separating his drawing room and rest area were once tied to the frame of the entrance, but have since been hastily pulled down, falling limply to the ground.

Ampora may be a damned lout, but he does respect the dignity of royalty- even though he shredded Dirk’s.

Your eyes follow the trail of his sheets, strewn carelessly across the floor from his bed. The glint of your family sword makes your heart skip a few beats and you nearly rush forward mindlessly.

His bare legs curl as he realizes your presence, and you turn away to the far side of his room. You hear a shuffling, and you realize that he’s dressing himself in whatever garments he can find. You turn back, and he’s moved to sit on one of the plush chairs in front of the fireplace. Shadows are drawn down his face, making his sharp features appear even sharper, his eyes sunken in.

He looks small, like an animal who had just been struck by its master. His eyes are blank, dark. They’re more of a rusty color than the usual fiery, orange hue. They look like the ghost of what has been.

You feel an empty pang strike your body. _You’re_ the younger brother. You’re not supposed to be the one doing the comforting and protecting. When you were young, you saw Dirk as someone to look up to, someone you admired and wanted to be just like. Now? You aren’t quite sure how you see him now. The kingdom sees a valiant Prince, but you’re beginning to think that he’s a coward, afraid of his own shadow.

You push the thoughts out of your mind. Thinking ill of your brother is bad enough, but to do so in his time of need is worse. You think yourself wicked.

He’s wearing his undergarments; silk pants and a loose, white shirt. It hangs down on his left side, revealing his pale, freckled shoulder. A purpling bruise blooms under the skin, crawling toward his collarbone. He’s staring at his fireplace, his face devoid of expression. The fire is dancing, full of life. It’s as if it’s laughing, laughing at Dirk. At your brother.

You turn away from him and walk to his bed, his sheets ruffled and messy, bed almost unrecognizable. It makes you want to cringe. You grab a blanket that seems mostly unbothered, the soft fabric melting between your fingers like warm sand. You walk back over to Dirk, setting the blanket upon his shoulders, gently wrapping it around him. He doesn’t look at you, but pulls the blanket tighter around himself. It’s only now that you notice he’s been shaking.

You sit across from him, watching him closely. You know that he won’t admit it, and he might not know it, but he doesn’t need to be alone. It’s not good for him. You’re used to him opposing your comforts, laughing at the very thought of any dangers. Now, in this moment, he’s welcoming you with open arms and shrinking at the face of any sort of pain.

You don’t know how long you sat in Dirk’s room. Once you leave, however, he’s sleeping in the chair, chin resting on the palm of his hand. The fire is nothing but orange-glowing embers, the smallest wisps of smoke floating into the chimney. The morning sun lights the vast courtyard outside of Dirk’s window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, feedback is greatly appreciated!
> 
> Contact us-  
> Jake' tumblr: eggtobiology (he's busy, though, so I apologize in advance if he doesn't get to your messages/comments right away!)  
> Cole's tumblr: shirostrider


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